


Oathbound, Heartbroken

by eawen_penallion



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Lothlórien, Love at First Sight, M/M, Rivendell, Romance, Third Age, cute but confident!, memories of non-con sex, over-protective parents, reluctant lover, spiders!, unwitting promises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:52:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 66,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eawen_penallion/pseuds/eawen_penallion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haldir has waited for his soulmate for all his life, and now seems to have found that elf. But to claim his love, he must break an oath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rúmil sighed as he glanced across to the nearby flet, wishing fruitlessly for what he knew Haldir would never let come to pass. Haldir, his dear brother, his surrogate father and mother; who was almost as dear to him as his darling wife. As dear to him as his other brother, Orophin, who sat beside him on this sentry flet .

"What has he done this time?" The words came rumbling from a deep throaty voice, breaking his train of thought. "Or rather, how did your plans fall apart *this* time?"

Rúmil turned his head to gaze into Orophin's deep blue eyes, seeing a mixture of sympathy and amusement lurking therein.

"She was perfect!" he wailed. "Long golden hair, a sweet smile and a good cook. *And* she likes and wants children. I thought that they would be perfect together."

" And?"

Rúmil smiled, a smile twisted in defeat and despair.

"They met. She smiled. He smiled. He wined her and dined her and then -" he sighed once more. "He took her back to her talan and bid her a goodnight. With a peck on the cheek."

Orophin stared, stunned, his mouth agape. Haldir did this?

"He did not bed her? He did not even kiss her on the mouth? Haldir, the lover, has ceased to pleasure his conquests? Elbereth! How does he expect to find his soulmate if he will not even reach for the first branch of the tree?"

Rúmil shrugged, his eyes sparkling with suspicious moisture.

"You know that his reputation has hidden his deepest longings, Orophin. He despairs, tôren." His eyes stared directly into his brother's, impressing upon him the serious nature of his words. "He is so lonely, Oro. He is so alone. And it is getting so hard to find eligible ellith, for he has tasted of every sweet flower in this wood. Aye, and in Imladris too!"

Orophin snorted. "I tell you again, Haldir is meant for an ellon, I just know it. If only he would give them a chance! I know of dozens in this Wood alone who ache to spend a night in his bed. For all his aloofness, they adore him." 

Rúmil nodded in agreement, for he too had been approached on behalf of his handsome brother. In his polite rejections of the males of the realm Haldir only generated adulation from afar. Sadly, Haldir had no longing for them in return.

"Perhaps, but he has always been so adamant that he prefers ellith. He wants children and so will not look at an ellon in anything but friendship." He swallowed, finding it hard to say what he truly feared. " Oro, I - I fear that we may lose him, if he does not find a mate soon. He wearies of the waiting. I - I think that he is fading."

Now it was Orophin's turn to blink back the unbidden tears, for the terror in Rumíl's voice showed that he was deadly serious. Haldir - dead? No, it could not be. It would *not* be!

"No!" he blurted out, a lump rising in his throat. "He will not fade! We won't let him. *I* won't let him! Rúmil, he is our brother and our parent. After Adar died at Dagorlad; after mother faded. Oh, the times he dried our tears, held us in our grief, soothed our troubled dreams. Barely past majority, and he became mother and father to us! Ai, why won't the Valar send him his soulmate, so that he may have a family of his own? We found our true loves, why not he?"

Yes, they *had* found their soulmates, and now Rúmil was wed to his lovely Meluiwen and had two lively, adorable elflings; he, Orophin, had been bound to his Doron for nigh on a thousand years. He smiled as he thought of his beloved husband, one of many librarians who tended to Lady Galadriel's extensive library. Who would have thought that he, a warden of the Northern Marches, would share a soul bond with a bookworm? Not that Doron would let him get away with that descriptive term. For all his bookishness, Doron was well able to stand up to his formidable lover. Still, their happiness had shone forth on the day that Haldir and Rúmil had stood as witnesses when Orophin and Doron had sworn their oaths and bound their hearts forever. Which was why Orophin still maintained that Haldir should open his heart to those of his own gender, else in his devout rejection of this possibility his brother was halving his chances of finding the soulmate he sought so desperately. 

Now to hear that the Marchwarden was rejecting the pleasures of bodily joining with an elleth... Ai, this was * Haldir* they were talking about - Haldir, the rampant lover; the arrogant warrior; the gentle partner and, in his spare time, a most learned scholar. His search for a soulmate had at one time been so enthusiastic that the door to his talan had nearly worn off its hinges, and his bed had needed replacing yearly from the nightly abuse it received. If Haldir's body was now not responding to the charms of ellith, if it was being denied the opportunities of physical release, then the news was more than dismaying. Rúmil was right. They were going to lose Haldir to the elven sickness if he did not find the elf of his heart - quickly.

"Have you spoken to anyone save Meluiwen and I?" he asked his younger brother. Rúmil nodded sadly.

"Aye, I spoke to the Lady before we returned to the borders. She could give me no answer to the dilemma. Well, no answer that I could understand." 

"As cryptic as ever, then?"

Rúmil wrung his hands in his anxiety. " She said that all things come to pass - or through the pass. She does not fear for Haldir, but that Haldir will fear soon, and that he must overcome it to face his future."

Yes, that sounded like their Lady. Succinct and indistinct. Orophin could only shrug.

"Then if the Lady does not worry for the life of our brother, then neither will I." He looked across to the nearby tree, where the topic of the conversation was keeping watch. "I just hope that whatever she foresees will come soon."

 

****

 

Across in his flet, Haldir of Lórien was musing on very similar thoughts to his brothers', and he could feel his heart sinking with every passing moment. He sat with his legs pulled up to his body, his arms wrapped around them and his chin resting on the hard bones of his knees; he stared forlornly out into the edge of the woods of the north-eastern border, to the heights of the Misty Mountains. 

For two days they had been waiting for the arrival over the high passes of a party from Imladris, and now they were well overdue. The group was comprised of a number of scholars and scribes with their escort, who were bringing to the Lothlórien libraries copies of documents and volumes of histories from Lord Elrond's personal collection, pertaining to the renewed vigilance against the return of evil to Middle Earth. Within a thousand years of the beginning of the Third Age, the southern regions of the Greenwood of King Thranduil had become dark with evil and the fortress of Dol Guldur leached creatures into the renamed realm of Mirkwood. Mithrandir's surreptitious visit to the evil abode had alerted the Elven realms to Sauron's return. Now the Dark Lord had removed to Mordor, but it was in the resulting resistance to the Evil that the Elven kin had begun to share their knowledge, vital to aiding the Elf Lords in the fight against the servant of Morgoth. 

Normally Haldir would have been overjoyed at the prospect of access to new reading material, for he devoured literature and the lore of books as others devoured honeycakes at teatime. Instead his mind was distracted, and replaying the humiliation of his most recent encounter with an elleth - and he pondered on its meaning and its result. He had not really minded the machinations of Rúmil and Meluiwen, for they had been diligent on his behalf and prepared for the evening with such love. However he had been most disappointed when he met the young elleth that they had introduced to him. The disappointment was not with the girl, for she had been most fair, but with his own heart's reaction to her.

There had been nothing. No reaction, no quickening of the pulse or flush to the cheek. No desire to talk with her, to get to know her. To share a bed. A dead and empty space lurked in the centre of his chest and his pulse had slowed on his perusal of her lovely form. Once his heart would have raced in hope and he would have persevered in his attention, begging his soul to come alive. He used to allow every opportunity for his soul to extend itself to the elleth in question, even to the point of sharing his body with her. Physically his body had responded at these liaisons but in the last few decades he had always woken the next morning with the taste of despair in his mouth. So much so that at this latest encounter he had not even bothered to continue the evening for his lust had been dampened by the lack of rapport with the unfortunate elleth. Haldir almost snickered at the epithet 'unfortunate', for he knew full well what his reputation had been and he had in a perverse way been proud of it. Now his reputation was in ruins and, truth be told, he did not care.

The Marchwarden looked across at the nearby tree, knowing that his brothers were speaking about him, and were as sorrowful as he. He did not even understand why he was so despondent. After all he was immortal save to injury, he had forever to find someone with whom he could share his life. He certainly had enough things to occupy himself with, for his duties were extensive and demanding, and fulfilling so many ways. He had always taken great satisfaction in a job well done, and he knew that the Lord and Lady had complete confidence in him. His leisure activities were also extensive, for he adored books and would spend many happy hours in quiet solitude with a well-thumbed volume and a glass of fine wine. Nor did he neglect his physical activities; he danced with delight in the woodland revels and took his turn on a harp when requested at the time of festival. For millennia this had been enough to distract him from his solitary state - so why now did he feel so low.

Haldir's eyes drifted from the Rivendell road to the north-west, to the southern reaches of Mirkwood and the evil therein. Evil that was rising fast, there in Taur-nu-Fuin as well as the southern desolation of the dark country of Mordor. Soon they would all be called to face the Dark Lord just as his father had, standing on the Plains of Dagorlad - where he had died. 

Haldir passed a hand over his eyes, wincing at the pain of the memories. His father, who had loved his first-born son so much, who had taken such pride in Haldir; he had confided his deepest hopes and dreams to him. Haldir had been full grown when first Orophin, then Rúmil , was born, and as one of the youngest Galadhrim he had been assigned to guard the borders of Lórien when the more experienced warriors had marched away under the command of Lord Celeborn. The years of waiting, of siege and skirmish, had been long, and then the dreaded day had arrived when victory was trumpeted and deaths were mourned. Both his brothers were still elflings then and so, when his mother had finally passed from her fading, Haldir had been reassigned to the guard of Caras Galadhon so that he could take care of them. As he watched his siblings grow into their majority, Haldir had dwelt long on his father's confided words and had then sworn a silent oath to fulfil his father's hopes and dreams. 

A bird's cry called him forth from his reflections and he looked back to the distant pass. At last! Descending from the heights of the mountain path he could see the party he had been waiting for since two days past. His heart fell as he perceived the distribution of the group, for their numbers were fewer than he had been told to expect. This delegation had not been delayed by something so trivial as a cast horseshoe or a small rock fall. No, for they were two horses short, aye and two warriors, and he gasped in dismay as he saw a litter strung between two of the remaining mounts, obviously bearing a wounded elf. He acknowledged the call and sang another, warning of injuries to be cared for. Swinging lightly out of the tree he signalled to his warriors to venture forth. The normal procedure of challenge within the wood had to be abandoned in the face of needy succour of the survivors of the Rivendell group. He had no fear that this was a trap set for his men, for at the head of the nearing column he could see the shining mane of the seneschal of Imladris, unique in its golden splendour. That Glorfindel of Imladris led the travelling party was a sign of its importance in the affairs of both realms, and the desperate fact of the injuries sustained in the attack it must have faced declared that the fight must have been fierce. Haldir knew that Glorfindel was a consummate warrior and that few could defy his swinging blade. Glorfindel would feel the loss of a single elf under his protection to be as a blow to his heart, even as he, Haldir, did when it was one of his Galadhrim who had been sent to the Halls of Waiting.

Haldir raised his hand in greeting as he reached the head of the column, noting that many of the following elves bore signs of battle and minor injuries. At least two of the party were female and not warriors, and the shock and fear in their eyes was very evident. Haldir nodded to them, then turned to Glorfindel. 

"Greetings, Glorfindel of Imladris, and welcome once more to Lothlórien." He indicated about them. "My lord, what happened to your party? I see evidence of a conflict and I would know details so that we can take steps to protect this border."

The golden lord bowed to the Marchwarden, whom he had known since his return to Middle Earth.

" Haldir, it is good to see you again, and especially since our encounter upon the heights. It was a large warring band of orcs, as you possibly have surmised, about three dozen in all. They fell upon us as we journeyed along a narrow part of the trail. We lost two of my patrol but sent ten times as many to their deaths. And poor little Mel there - ai, despite valiant efforts by this young scribe a poisoned blade sliced through to inflict a vicious wound. We have rinsed the wound as best we can to wash out most of the poison, and have applied such herbs as we had, but still the pen- neth suffers."

Glorfindel led the way over to the stretcher and the figure thereon. The elf was wrapped in many blankets yet they did not disguise the slim figure and slight stature of the distressed elf, surely the figure of an elleth. The hood of a cloak was pulled forward over most of the face leaving only a strand of dark brown hair, rich with auburn highlights, falling loosely across the pale skin. Beads of sweat stood forth upon what little face could be seen, evidence of the fever devouring this young female.

"Mel is very dear to us all, Haldir. A dear, sweet creature who does not deserve to suffer. I would ask that we continue to Caras Galadhon with all haste, so that Mel can receive treatment as soon as possible."

Haldir nodded at these words, for the urgency and fears expressed for Mel's life by the seneschal was reflected on all the travellers' faces. He signalled to Orophin, calling him to the front of the group.

" Glorfindel, I think you remember my brother and lieutenant, Orophin? He and a small number of my wardens will escort you with all speed to the City of Trees, and expedite urgent treatment for your young friend there. I will take the remainder of the patrol on a survey of your route to dispose of the remnants of the orc scum who attacked you. They cannot be allowed to come so close to the trails, nor to the Golden Wood. They will pay for the evil they have done."

A few barked commands saw Rúmil and the majority of the patrol readying their weapons for battle even as Orophin helped the elves of Imladris to re-mount in preparation for the final leg of their journey to Caras Galadhon. A soft moan from the injured figure on the litter made Haldir turn in sympathy. He knelt by the pallet, his hand gently resting on the shoulder of the suffering elf.

"Fear not, meldis. You will be safe and well soon, I promise," he murmured. 

The head turned slowly and Haldir's heart skipped a beat when the dark lashes fluttered on the soft pale cheek, then slowly lifted to reveal the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Like pools of molten chocolate, the soft brown irises were deep enough to dive into, to bathe in, to luxuriate in the gentle depths of a pure soul - to drown in without struggle, for the fate of envelopment would be better than life without this fey creature. Framed as they were by the most absurdly long lashes, they captured Haldir's faltering heart in an instant. Despite the pain he saw within, Haldir saw gentle hope and dawning delight in those enticing orbs, that caused a flame to leap up inside his newly-entranced heart and burn with a ferocity he had never known before. The eyes gently closed once more as the elf slid back into the welcoming dark of dreamless, healing sleep.

Trembling fingers touched the silken skin of the tender cheek, the only part of the face other than the eyes that was visible beneath the swaddling blankets that heated the ailing elleth. Haldir started as Orophin tapped his shoulder, pulling from the momentary spell that he had fallen under, reminding him of the necessary haste of the party and his own duty. It was with a deep reluctance that they took their leave and began to climb the rock-strewn slopes to fulfil their duty and chase down the miscreant orcs who had injured the delicate elleth who now held Haldir's heart.

 

****

 

Haldir had ever been a neat edhel and his talan had always been a place of serene repose and calm order on his returns to the City of Trees. Now it seemed that it was the centre of a storm, a whirlwind of discarded leggings, tunics, boots and belts, all of which had been rejected as unsuitable for this momentous occasion. 

The patrol had easily disposed of the orcs that had attacked the party from Rivendell, and Haldir had taken down more than his fair share of the twisted creatures in his rage on behalf of the wounded elf who had embedded herself within his very soul. When he and his men had returned to the northern edges of the Wood they found that a relief patrol had arrived but a day before. The relief was a great surprise for they were but one week into a month-long term of duty, but Haldir was informed that it was by the order of Lord Celeborn. Duly relieved of duty, the patrol had returned to Caras Galadhon where Haldir had received orders to report to the Lord before nightfall. The Marchwarden had every intention of doing that but, as nightfall was still some hours away, he had a more important meeting to arrange.

Orophin had been waiting for him at the main gates to the city, leaning against the gatepost with an extremely smug expression on his face. The warden had grinned on seeing Haldir's quizzing look, and had stepped forward in greeting.

" Suilad, tôren," Orophin had said. "Good hunting?"

Haldir had curtly nodded. "Completely," he said with satisfaction. Orophin had thrown an arm around his shoulder and the two elves had walked together into the city, both avoiding the subject, yet yearning for the topic to settle on the one thing they both wanted to discuss. It was Haldir who finally placed the question.

"How is the young elf who was injured? Healing well, I hope?"

Orophin had nodded nonchalantly. "Fairly well. Seems to have developed something else quite alarming though."

Haldir had looked sharply at his brother, not sure if he should be concerned or not. "In what way?"

Orophin, grinning once more, said, "Oh, sweet Mel has been totally obsessed about something - no, someone. Keeps questioning people about a certain elf who spoke with great concern on the northern slopes. Mel wants to thank him personally, it seems. Is very persistent in finding out who the elf is and, for some perverse reason, seems quite taken with the Marchwarden too."

Orophin had released a pained ' Oof!' when Haldir had dug an elbow into his side, but the older brother had added a spring to his stride at this news, and a satisfied smile to his face. He had hurried to his talan to bathe before going to the Halls of Healing to see in full for the first time this amazing elf, hence the disorder around him now. He did not dwell on Orophin's final words, for his brother had been keen to give him some sort of warning, a warning he did not feel he needed.

"Mel is a sweet gentle creature, Haldir, and most definitely felt the connection that you did too, I am sure," Orophin had said soberly. He hesitated. "Mel truly could be the love of your life, your soulmate, my dearest, dearest brother. Please, *please* give Mel a chance to show you how wonderful your life could be beside - her. Mel is a very -different - sort of lover than you have ever known, Haldir. And Mel is perfect for you, I am certain."

Haldir had shrugged away this obscure warning, for he knew that this Mel *was* perfect. He knew it to very depths of his soul.

After many changes of attire Haldir now stood clothed in deep green leggings and a rich copper tunic, his hair brushed to the bright sheen of sunlight on water, and formally braided. Upon the table lay a small posy of delicate elanor, the stems wrapped in damp moss to keep them fresh. Uncharacteristically ignoring the mess about him, Haldir picked up his tiny offering and exited the talan. The stairs had never seemed so many nor the paths so long, but Haldir walked swiftly and within a short space of time he stood at the ground-level entrance to the Healing Halls of Lothlórien. Here he paused, taking a deep breath, and tried to calm the excessive beating of his heart. Too many times he had hoped, and he would not allow his despair to swallow him once more by wishing too fervently for that for which he so longed. Yet those eyes haunted him...

" Haldir, you are back!" A delighted cry came from behind him, and Haldir turned to face the happy elf, barely preventing the posy from being crushed as he was swept into his brother-in-law's arms.

" Doron, it is good to see you!" 

He hugged Orophin's husband with genuine warmth, for he was very fond of the ellon who had made his brother so happy. He pulled back to look into the dark blue eyes of the Lórien scribe, and grinned to see the smile upon Doron's face.

"So, did you have time to hide the secret lover before Orophin surprised you?"

Doron laughed at the joke, playing along with Haldir. "Oh, no problem, I assure you. But oh, my dear brother, it was so *wonderful* to see him again so soon after his departure! The month-long separations can be so hard to bear at times."

Haldir nodded, for he knew that the bond between the two husbands was extremely strong.

"So," he said, changing the subject. "What do you do here, tôren?"

Doron gestured to the books in his hand. "Just bringing a bit of reading material to an injured colleague - the young scribe that you rescued. And you?" He looked pointedly at the bouquet in Haldir's hand. Haldir blushed and looked away in embarrassment.

"Oh, just a few flowers to cheer the lady," he said mildly.

"The la-?" Doron stopped suddenly, and then he too flushed red. He seemed to want to say something but then stepped back awkwardly. "Oh, then you go ahead, Haldir. I can come back later." He lifted his hand in farewell and made as if to go, but stopped and turned back to his startled brother-in-law, biting nervously on his lower lip. "Mel is a very sweet, very gentle person, meldir. Please, be kind to hi- be kind to Mel, Haldir."

With that Doron left, leaving Haldir puzzled in the extreme. The young scribe, Mel of Imladris, seemed to have made a strong impression on more elves than himself. Perhaps it boded well for the future. He turned and entered the hall, approaching the first healer he saw. On enquiring as to the direction of Mel's room, Haldir proceeded to the individual chambers at the rear of the hall, where the less serious patients were quartered. He paused to give himself a final look over, tugging at his tunic to straighten it and smoothing his hair, then knocked firmly at the door. A muffled 'Come in' granted him admittance, and he turned the handle and entered the room.

The eyes were as wonderful as he remembered, the deep warmth of liquid brown that captured his own in gentle greeting. Gone was the pain and anguish of the injured creature of the border skirmish. Instead there was delight, joy and sweetness in that gaze, and trembling hope of the promise of love and unity in the eager, questing look. Mel too wished for something special to come out of this meeting.

A slender oval face, a pert nose and a delicate pout of a mouth, eminently kissable, framed the eyes. Long, shining locks of dark brown hair tinged with auburn tumbled over slim shoulders clad in a light blue nightshirt, and the figure was propped up in the bed, supported by a mound of soft white pillows.

"Oh, hello. You must be Haldir, for Orophin said that you would come. I am so glad to meet you, for I wanted to thank you for your kind words on our arrival." The elf hesitated, then a faint blush crept onto those dainty cheeks and a gentle smile curved the pale pink lips. "I am Melpomaen of Imladris."

The voice was as mellifluous as Haldir had hoped; soft, welcoming, and piercing right through to his heart like a rapier. He stood silent, mouth agape, staring at this vision of beauty, this petite elf whom he had hoped to have loved, and loved forever. He stood. 

Aghast. Horrified.

For Melpomaen of Imladris was definitely, undoubtedly and most irrefutably...

Male.


	2. Chapter 2

The gentle welcoming smile on Melpomaen's face began to slip slowly away as Haldir stood shocked and still in the doorway of the room. The young scribe's fierce excitement at meeting this beautiful Silvan elf, into whose eyes he had gazed with dawning love, now faded in the extended clamour of silence resounding in the room, and his heart clenched in sorrow. So this was why Haldir's brother Orophin had warned him, had counselled him to approach this meeting with a cautious guard around his heart. Haldir of Lórien had not known that he, Melpomaen, was an ellon - and Haldir of Lórien was obviously not a lover of males.

When he had heard that voice upon the heights, so filled with sympathy and concern, Melpomaen had made a determined effort to climb to consciousness, to see the elf that spoke so gently and with such empathy. When at last his heavy eyelids had conceded the battle and had flickered open, he had been met with perfection. Long blonde hair shimmering in the sunlight, with glints of silver dancing and sparkling under Anor's rays. A proud face, determined yet compassionate, whose strong features had enhanced Melpomaen's immediate sense of trust in this magnificent edhel. And those eyes - silver-blue, crystal-clear - had chimed as a bell, awakening his heart. In those few seconds, a brief moment in time, Melpomaen knew that his life had changed forever.

The kind and expert care on his arrival in Lothlórien had helped his recovery, but his health had improved beyond reckoning when Orophin had told him that Lord Celeborn had ordered Haldir's return from the borders to assist in the interpretation of the newly-arrived scrolls and books. It was his assignment too, and the thought of spending hour upon hour in the company of the beautiful, elegant Marchwarden had filled him with delight. For in his admittedly short life of only five hundred years, none had touched Melpomaen's soul as did Haldir of Lórien.

Although young, Melpomaen had on his Awakening partaken of the usual explorations of the flesh with both ellith and ellyn, but his many and fervent unions had petered away fairly quickly soon after. As enjoyable as they had been, ultimately he had felt that they offered him little in the way of food for the soul. He knew, as did all elves, that one day it was possible that he would meet his soulmate; countless liaisons of the body, without meaning or joy, was not the route that he wished to take to that day. Although he was fully aware of his attractions (for they had been enumerated many times by his erstwhile suitors) Melpomaen of Imladris had somehow retained his air of unspoiled innocence, and that innocence was a reflection of the true state of his inner sense of self-worth. When the spurned elves had learned of his commitment to a lover yet unfound they had outwardly laughed, yet inwardly envied the strength of mind of the young ellon - and the lucky elf that would one day complete him.

And now that strength of mind was faltering under the silent onslaught of the stunned gaze of the Marchwarden. Melpomaen wanted nothing more than to leap out of the bed and run into the arms of Haldir - to hold him, to caress him and to reassure him that all would be well, if Haldir would but give them a chance to be together. Instead he took a steadying breath and composed himself, striving to be calm and reserved in the face of the probable rebuff of his growing attraction. He extended his hand.

"Are those flowers for me?" he asked gently, gesturing to the posy, long forgotten in Haldir's hand. "They are very beautiful."

Haldir looked blankly down at them, as if noticing them for the first time.

"Yes," he said numbly. "I suppose they are."

Melpomaen raised an eyebrow, an uncanny trick that he had unconsciously copied from the Lord of Imladris and Haldir blushed, awkwardly extending the small bouquet so that Melpomaen could take it from his hands. Their fingers touched for a moment in the exchange, and the sensual sensation of the softness of Melpomaen's skin shot up the length of Haldir's arm as the nerves fired their dancing impulses with startling speed. In that brief second their eyes met again, and Haldir could only nod his head in assent and comply when Melpomaen invited him to sit beside the bed.

"Once again," Melpomaen said softly, "I would thank you for the help that you gave us - gave *me* - after that dreadful attack."

Haldir shook his head, hardly believing that he sat and talked as his dream crumbled about him.

"I did nothing," he managed to say past the encroaching lump in his throat. "Glorfindel and the troops of Imladris were the ones who fought so bravely."

"Yet yours was the voice that I heard in the darkness," Melpomaen pressed firmly. "Yours was the voice that pulled me out of my fevered delirium and gave me the strength, the *will* to survive until I could be given further aid." His hand slid across the sheet to touch Haldir's, which rested upon the coverlet. To his alarm and dismay Haldir jumped out of his chair and backed away to the door.

"I should go," the warrior stuttered, as he reached behind him for the door handle.

Melpomaen stretched out his hand in involuntary supplication, fear of loss tingeing his aching voice.

"Please, you will return, won't you? You will come to see me again?"

Haldir shook his head mutely, and then fled from the room before his resolve could wither. 

The younger elf stared at the open door for a long moment before curling into the bed, arms clutched tight around a soft pillow. Only the growing damp stain upon the pillowcase bore witness to his silent tears.

 

****

 

Haldir at first walked quickly, then broke into a trot, then into a run. He ran through the trees, his feet hitting the path with echoing thuds as he tried to escape the treacherous thoughts reverberating in his head. He knew not where he ran and he ignored the annoyed shouts of the elves who had to step quickly out of his way. He did not hear his brother's cries for him to stop. All that he could do was focus on the pounding of his heart; each beat a stride bringing him further away from the elf who had deceived him. The elf to whom he was so drawn. The very, very beautiful *male* elf.

Haldir finally stopped, panting to regain his breath, then he dropped to his knees onto the forest floor and grasped his head in his hands, trembling with emotion. He was isolated, with no reference to the world around him. How long he knelt he did not know, but a hand upon his shoulder and softly spoken words broke through his isolation.

"Haldir? Tôren?"

A fierce rage swelled within his breast and rushed through his veins in white-hot heat. In one swift movement born of his long life and the superb fighting skills he had gained therein, Haldir rose and turned, his outstretched hands shoving firmly into the elf's chest to deposit the miscreant onto his back on the leaf-strewn ground.

"You! Have you come to gloat, you bastard? You knew, you son of an orc! You knew that Melpomaen was an ellon! You liar! You filthy, deceiving liar!"

Orophin was stunned to see tears falling over hot cheeks - not a trickle, but a torrent - in wild abandoned sobbing. Haldir was crying.

Haldir never cried.

The last time that Orophin had seen his brother weep was at the deaths of their parents and even then it was a slow dignified tear, not this desperate outpouring of grief.

"Haldir, I-" He realised that he did not know what to say. He saw the normally cool, calm Marchwarden, his brother, Haldir of Lórien stand firm upon his wide stance, his hands repeatedly clenching into fists. Orophin realised that Haldir was trying to restrain himself from throwing control to the four winds and that this fierce control was the only thing that was saving him, Orophin, from being beaten to a bloody pulp. The rebuff came through clenched teeth.

"Get out of my sight, Orophin. Get out of my way. You do not know what you have done this day."

It stung him, the rejection in those words. Yes, he did know what he had done or at least, what he had tried to do. He had tried to get his brother to meet his soulmate, knowing that if he had told him the truth then Haldir would have rejected the meeting out of hand. Anger rising within him, Orophin clambered to his feet and faced his elder brother.

"Yes, I lied! I lied to get you to meet Melpomaen, you stubborn idiot! To meet someone who could complete you! You know, Haldir, sometimes I feel that this is all one great big act," he gestured with his arms, enfolding the expanse around them. "Poor Haldir. All alone. So sad. 'Let's feel sorry for big brother, because he has no one to hold, no one to share his life with.' Well, it worked for a long time, Haldir. But no more, you are going to fool me no longer. We've tried to help you, support you - but how can we, when you reject love every time the possibility comes near you? I think that you *want* to be alone. Well, fine!" 

Orophin's voice dropped as he suddenly realised just *why* he was so angry.

"You know, every time that you reject the possibility of an ellon, I wonder why. I wonder what brought you to that way of thinking. I wonder, how can you reject the many and varied ways of Ilúvatar's gifting to us of our soulmates? Then at the last, I wonder just *how* do you view Doron and I? Is your acceptance of our love, of our marriage nothing but a huge pretence? Do we really disgust you? Have you some deep-seated prejudice against love between ellyn? And then, I wonder if that is perhaps the truth - and if I ever really knew you at all."

With that Orophin turned and walked away leaving Haldir alone, staring stunned after his younger brother. Finally, long after Orophin had gone from beyond his sight, Haldir spoke softly, so softly that none could possibly have heard him.

"You are wrong, so wrong, my darling brother. I do not hate you, instead I envy you. I so wish that I could be like you, that I could follow your path and find your joy, but I can't. I swore an oath."

With the last tear slipping down his face, he lifted his head to the treetops, and the endless sky beyond.

"Didn't I, Adar?"

 

****

 

Haldir had just fastened the last of the straps of his travel bag when he heard footsteps outside the door of his talan, then the click of the latch. Irritated, he turned to face the elf who had dared to enter his private abode, intent upon giving him a sharp lecture on manners unbecoming a member of the Firstborn. He stopped, surprised, when he saw who it was.

"My - my Lord Celeborn!" he said shakily.

The silver-haired lord strolled silently into the room, glancing about the spacious talan that belonged to his foremost Marchwarden, and to Haldir's parent before him. Haldir gulped, glad then that he had taken the time to return the rooms to their usual immaculate order, rather than the disarray of his hopeful enrobing of earlier that day.

Observing Celeborn's blank expression Haldir winced inwardly, waiting for the deserved tongue-lashing that was due to him for forgetting his debriefing with the Lord of the Galadhrim. Celeborn had finished his mild inspection of his quarters and now turned to Haldir, his face devoid of any expression of ire, or indeed, of any other emotion.

"You know, Haldir," he said with an uncharacteristic mildness that made the Marchwarden shudder, "When I ask to receive a report from one of my warriors, I usually find that the said warrior will attend me in the Great Mallorn. This is indeed a novelty for me to find that I have to wait upon my most senior officer in his own quarters."

Haldir's heart dropped, knowing that this admonition was worse than any of the brief outbursts of anger he was witnessed his lord display in the past. Celeborn of Lórien was not an edhel to take fools, or slights, lightly. Haldir had been derelict in his duty, and now he was about to pay for it.

"I am sorry, my lord, but events distracted me - "

"I have no interest in your love life, Haldir," - ' Oh Gods, he knows!' thought Haldir, flushing in embarrassment - "save when it interferes with the security of this realm. If you want sympathy and counselling, go to my wife." Celeborn's eyes blazed as he finally released his fury.

"Do not *ever* make me come to you again, Haldir. I have placed a great deal of trust in your capabilities. Up until now I have not been disappointed. Up until now." The silver eyes glanced at the bag resting upon the table. The eyes travelled to Haldir's face, noting the incipient panic therein. "Off on a journey, Haldir?"

"I thought to return to my post on the Northern Fences, my Lord," he stuttered. "We were but one week into our duty assignment - "

Celeborn raised a hand, halting the brief explanation.

"I know precisely where each of my warriors serves at any moment in the duty cycle, Haldir. Your patrol will go back to the borders in three days - with Orophin in command."

"What!" Haldir could not retain his disbelief. To be relieved of command for just one failing in a thousand years? And replaced by his brother, no less? The sense of deep hurt caused him to remonstrate with his lord. "No, I cannot believe that I have failed you to that extent! This is unfair, my lord - "

"And who says that Life is fair, Marchwarden?" the Lord of Lórien interrupted sharply. "Life is never fair, Haldir. Life kills your kin, aye, even at the hands of other elves. Life, and its evil servants, corrupts your friends into the making of magical rings, and causes the downfall of yet another elven realm. Life, as perpetrated by an evil Vala and his minions, brings death to my High King. And Life tempts a spouse into bearing a Ring of Power, thus causing that evil Eye to turn towards this golden haven. It is my task to face up to Life, and protect this realm and the elves within with every breath of my body. Aye, and even if I were disappointed in love, as you are, then I would set that emotion aside so that I could fulfil my duty - without spilling self-indulgent tears of sorrow for things that I could easily remedy, if I but allowed for change in my heart and my life!"

The rage was righteous and the fury direct, and Haldir felt every word roll around and through him, each syllable ringing with an intensity that was deep and true. He recoiled from the last sentence, for he knew that within those words was his hope, directions from the lord to solve his dilemma in a way he could not yet face. He returned his attention to Celeborn, who was yet speaking, though his tone was measured once more.

"Your remaining here in Caras Galadhon is in no way related to your lack of report, Marchwarden. The documents that have arrived from Imladris now require intensive study. Reports of battle need to be correlated with those already in our archives, then analysed from a military point of view. I am assigning you to this task, Haldir. Your training in strategy and tactics, and your expertise in divining the relevant statements within these kinds of reports places you at the centre of this work. We need every advantage we can find if we are going to win the Final Battle against Sauron. I am depending upon you to find it.

"Lord Glorfindel has kindly agreed to remain with us for three months, for he has fought against both Morgoth and Sauron in his two lifetimes, and can give us the benefit of his extensive experience in these encounters. Thus you will work with him and with our historians to find weaknesses in Sauron's scheming. The scribes of Imladris will remain with us for that period, and some for longer if necessary." Celeborn held the Marchwarden's gaze at this statement. "You *will* work with them, Haldir, to the fullest extent. The security of this realm is more important than your personal considerations."

Haldir placed his hand over his heart and bowed in acquiescence, even as said heart lurched in the realisation that, for three months at least, he would have to work alongside Melpomaen of Imladris. He closed his eyes briefly, visualising the enticing ellon, and wondered how he could survive the next ninety days with his oath intact.

Celeborn had acknowledged Haldir's assent and now made as if to exit the room. As he placed his hand upon the latch of the door he turned once more to the silent elf, a sly grin upon his face.

"By the way, Haldir - I must compliment you on the restrained manner in which you dealt with your brother. Me? I would have hammered Orophin into the ground for daring to interfere in my private life. Then again, I suppose that it is better that our acting marchwarden should *not* be nursing a broken jaw whilst patrolling the northern border."

And with a loud laugh, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish: 
> 
> ellon - male elf (sing.)  
> edhel - elf (sing.)  
> ellith - female elves (pl.)  
> ellyn - male elves (pl.)  
> tôren - my brother  
> Adar - father  
> pen- neth - little one  
> Suilad - hello


	3. Chapter 3

Haldir awoke with a fierce headache and a mouth that tasted like the slops of Lothlórien's most frequented tavern. As well he should know, for a much younger, much more naïve Galadhel had partaken of those slops as part of his 'initiation' into the Galadhrim over two thousand years ago. He smiled wryly in remembrance of that time, and then quickly diverted his mind away from other, more painful memories of that night. Memories that had far too much relevance for his thoughts and acts at this moment in his life. Through the drink-induced throbbing, Haldir tried to remember the sequence of events of the previous evening, and grimaced at the dismal recollections. His exit from the Halls of Healing; his fight with Orophin; the scolding of his Lord. Then Doron had arrived, his eyes blazing in defence of his beloved.

"Why did you attack him, Haldir? He loves you! He loves you beyond any remembrance of your father. And now you turn on him for simply trying to help you. Some brother *you* are!"

Haldir had bitten his tongue on the angry words he could have thrown back, for he did not wish to send his brother out on patrol with enmity between them.

"I love him too, Doron, but I can only ask him again not to interfere in my life. I must tread my own path." Doron had remonstrated at this, not taking the proffered olive branch.

"The path that is giving you so much pain and sorrow? Forgive us, Haldir, but we cannot stand idly by whilst you hurt so much." Doron paused, trying to gather courage to address the most grievous hurt that Orophin bore. "Haldir, tôren… It is not true what Oro said, is it? You are not one of those rare edhel who has distaste for love within the same gender? I thought that this prejudice belonged only to the Secondborn, but I recently read something that suggested that it was true of some of the Eldar too, even in recent years. Haldir, do you despise us?"

The pain and disappointment in Doron's voice struck hard in Haldir's heart and he had hurried to reassure his beloved brother-in-law, gathering Doron into his arms.

"Oh no, sweet Doron! No, no! I love you so much, for yourself and for bringing Oro such happiness. Your love is a beauteous thing, so obvious in its joy and rightness of being. I have no prejudice. I even envy you - I envy the freedom you both had to choose each other."

Haldir had bit his lip as Doron pulled back to look at him in surprise. He had not meant to say the last few words, but in his anguish he had not controlled his thoughts or tongue.

"Haldir, do you mean to say that you *could* love an ellon? Or that you do? Why do you fight the attraction then? You have the same freedom that we had. You have the same freedom to find the other half of your fëa, be it an ellon or an elleth."

Once again, Haldir had shaken his head, desperately wishing that Doron were not so perceptive or analytical. His training in scholarly pursuits meant that not much passed his notice, for words were his life and he was a master of intonation and intent. "No, dearest Doron. For I must have children, and an ellon cannot give me that hope. Your way is not open to me."

Doron had looked straight into his eyes, examining him closely and Haldir's heart sank for he knew that once again his errant tongue had misspoken.

"*Must* have children? Haldir, you have always talked of wanting elflings, but never of 'must' or 'need'. No elf has had the potential of children laid upon them as a duty, as an absolute necessity to procreate, save for the Silvan of Mirkwood under Oropher's reign - and the need there was to maintain a population devastated by war and other evils. Thranduil released those restrictions from his people over a hundred years ago, seeing them truly as an abrogation of his subjects' rights. But you are a Silvan of Lothlórien, not of Mirkwood."

Haldir had smiled wistfully. "I *am* of Greenwood heritage of but two generations ago, through my grandfather. He moved to Lothlórien when Amroth ruled." His mouth twisted. "Perhaps I have - no, it has no bearing. Doron if, as you say, my life is my own then I must follow the way set before me. Please, return to Orophin and enjoy his company for the brief time left. If he wishes to talk to me about his new command then I am available."

After Doron had departed, Haldir had steeled himself for a visit from his youngest brother, but Rúmil had been a little more discreet in his approach. His son, Alagion, had arrived with an invitation to dinner, which Haldir had declined.

"I would not make good company tonight, pen-neth," he had said, ruffling his nephew's hair affectionately. "But tell your ada that I invited you and your sister to stay with me tomorrow night, so that your parents may have some time alone before his return to the border."

Once alone again, Haldir had kept company with a bottle of wine and a book - save that, unusually, the book had been left unread and the bottle was soon joined by two of its brethren. In the early hours of the morning, Haldir had slipped into a drink-induced stupor, where his dreams were invaded by melting chocolate-brown eyes, and silken, auburn-tinged hair…

It took much effort in the dawning light of day, but Haldir finally moved from under the sleep-tangled sheets of the bed to his bathing chamber - an unusual luxury that he gave much thanks for this morning. He filled the tub with water from the capillary-fed pipes, deliberately setting the water to a shivering cold temperature. When he finally emerged, chilled as no elf should be, he felt at least awake enough to take on his new duties. Ringing the excess water out of his dripping hair, he thought upon his clothing for the day. Normally when within the city Haldir eschewed the dull and dreadful greys of his Galadhrim uniform for much brighter hues that at least gave the true proportion of his muscle-honed figure. He had realised millennia ago that the bulky grey tabard turned him into that which he most definitely was not - a fat elf. Yet today he felt the need to assert his position and to suppress his personality in the dour grey. He did not allow himself to dwell upon the reasons for that choice, but dressed anyway and set off to his task.

Under any other circumstances Haldir would have revelled in this assignment, for it combined the two sides of his life to perfection - the skills of a warrior leader complementing his adoration of the lore of his land. To have three months of this would have been bliss, if it were not for one thing - one person. A person who was absent, Haldir quickly realised when he entered the library. Feelings of relief and disappointment warred within him as he recognised that Melpomaen had not yet been released from his sickbed in the Halls of Healing. Haldir raised his hand in greeting to Doron, who smiled and approached him from across the library floor, threading his way through racks of books and scrolls.

"Maer aur, Haldir," he smiled. "Your party is assembling in the North Room, ready to begin work." He paused and narrowed his eyes to examine his brother-in-law's face. "You look terrible!"

Haldir smiled weakly. "Aye, I could be better, but for my punishment I entertained more wine than I ought - and now I have also promised to take Alagion and Tólaes tonight, to give Rúmil and Meluiwen a night's peace."

Doron threw up his hands in mock alarm. "Ai! You are braver than I, mellon-nín! But I have to say; your dress sense seems to have suffered as well. However, the effort is wasted, for he is not here."

Haldir looked at him with a warning on his face. Doron laughed.

"Alright, I know - none of my business! This meeting though *is* my business. Our lord, in his wisdom, has decreed that being married to a warden has given me an insight into the ways of war. Well, I suppose that after a thousand years of your brother spilling his stories into my ear, he is right. I am to join you on this quest."

The North Room was simply named for a wide room that was illuminated by the bright clear light of the northern sky, without the potentially harmful rays of the sun in its journey through the firmament. It was a talan situated high in one of the larger mellyrn, so that it was free of the shadows of branches and golden leaves. A door led out onto a large balcony, which afforded spectacular views of the Misty Mountains and the plains to the edge of the southern reaches of Mirkwood.

The occupants of the room were already busy and two large tables were strewn with scrolls, maps and scraps of notepaper, as the librarians of the two realms pored over the documents. Haldir took a few moments to register the difference in dress of the scribes, for the Rivendell elves seemed almost like peacocks in their richly-coloured velvets and silks, whereas the Lórien scholars faded to pallid ghosts in their silver-greys and off-whites. A vision flashed into Haldir's mind of silken auburn hair cascading sumptuously over cream brocade, and he flushed when he registered a hardening in his groin. Ai, no - he could not think that way. He would *not* think that way.

To divert his mind he searched for his counterpart, and saw the golden-haired lord seated in a high-backed chair at a corner table, immersed in a leather-bound volume. Glorfindel looked up as Haldir approached and, from the expression on his face, the seneschal of Imladris looked none too pleased to see him. A minor battle seemed to be raging within the warrior, a battle which was conceded and released in a sigh and a slight smile directed at the Marchwarden.

"Good morning, Haldir. I hope that you have come ready to work," - he gestured at the untidy table - "for we have much to do."

Haldir nodded, knowing that whatever had angered Glorfindel - and he suspected that he knew the cause - the golden lord had set it aside in order to focus upon this most urgent undertaking. Bending over the table to look at the subject matter he saw that Glorfindel had elected to start at the beginning, for his reading material consisted of the earliest accounts of battles between the Noldorian Exiles and Morgoth, waged after their return to Middle Earth from Valinor at the beginning of the First Age. The morning flew, for Haldir was fascinated by the correlation of the two points of view - the historical records versus the eye-witness accounts of Glorfindel. The seneschal gave praise for accuracy where praise was due, but snorted in derision at other, less reliable tales.

"Some of this is pure fantasy!" he cried more than once. Haldir was reminded of nothing more that a clucking hen as Glorfindel continued to click his tongue in annoyance at one particular writer of 'fiction'. A curvature of the lips became a smile of amusement, then a grin, and finally Haldir burst out in a loud guffaw at the increasingly ludicrous stream of derision issuing forth from the mouth of the seneschal. Glorfindel looked up in surprise at hearing the Marchwarden's laughter, for Haldir of Lórien was not much known for public exhibitions of mirth. The surprise lasted for but a moment, then the Lord of Gondolin laughed too, his hearty chuckle rolling merrily around the room, lifting the spirits of all who toiled in this potentially depressing task. He threw the offending document onto a pile in mock disgust.

"Ai," he said, "I told better fairy stories to my son when he was but a ten year old elfling!"

It was Haldir's turn to be surprised at the mention of a son, for the marriage of Glorfindel of Gondolin to Erestor, chief counsellor of Imladris, was a love story that had encompassed three ages, and their devotion was legendary. Haldir had no time to ponder on this amazing revelation when the seneschal made to stand.

"I think that we have been at this long enough, meldir. I am in need of refreshment, and I see that they have laid out a repast at tables on the balcony. Come, let us assuage our hunger and quench our thirst, then we shall be all the better to re-enter the fray." Glorfindel gestured to the many untouched piles of scrolls filling the large room. "An army cannot fight upon an empty stomach, eh?"

Haldir's answer was an embarrassing rumble from said stomach, and a short laugh when he realised just how hungry he was. He had had no appetite on rising, and any thought of food then had set in motion a roiling reaction through his innards. Now they protested at the neglect, and he eagerly joined Glorfindel at the lunch table. The food was plentiful and the view spectacular, and the company excellent as the two lord warriors reminisced about their previous encounters. Finally Glorfindel looked about him, admiringly scanning the treetops.

"Ai, it is so quiet and peaceful here, mellon-nín. At times too peaceful for me - one grows used to the constant rumble of the falling cascades. It becomes an accompaniment to all your activities, and one scarcely notices it until, like now, it is absent. I do admit that I had a great deal of trouble finding my reverie last night." He paused, looking carefully at Haldir's eyes, which were still somewhat bloodshot from the excesses of the previous night. "I can see that you had to resort to the old remedy too?"

Haldir grimaced. "A little over-indulgence on my first night home," he admitted. Glorfindel clapped his shoulder.

"Well, how about a little of the hair-of-the-dog this evening then? To set you to rights?"

Haldir shook his head and took a deliberate sip of the refreshing fruit cordial that had been set out for them.

"Not tonight, my lord. My brothers take up their duties again tomorrow, so I have promised the youngest that I will care for his elflings. I will have a busy enough night without the confusion of more wine!"

Glorfindel grinned. "Aye, elflings tangle your heart and destroy your house - but they are worth it. And when they hurt, all that you want to do is to sooth their grieving hearts and dry their tears…"

The words were said with sadness, and Haldir's own heart clenched; but so did his jaw, for he would not be drawn into this indelicate if mild inquisition. Glorfindel glanced at the sky but the balcony faced the wrong direction to afford a view of the sun.

"Ah, I cannot tell the precise hour, but in talking of elflings I am reminded that I promised to visit my young Mel today." He looked sideways at Haldir and his light tone could not disguise a questioning lilt. "I believe that you visited him yesterday, Haldir? A kindly gesture."

Haldir did not allow his feelings to show as he responded to the deliberate probe. "It was the right thing to do. Please pass on to Master Melpomaen my sincerest wishes for a speedy recovery." He turned to look directly at the golden lord, enduring his long examination of Haldir's expressionless face. Finally Glorfindel gave a brief nod as if satisfied at some quiet conclusion.

"I will, Haldir. I will pass on your wishes - from one edhel to another."

Haldir kept his face composed, glad of his ability to maintain a stoic mien in the face of engagement. For he felt as if he were fighting a battle, with the seneschal, with his family - and most of all with himself. It seemed now as if he had won this battle to pretend - no, to *uphold* - his disinterest in the young scribe. Yes, he had won the battle.

So why did he feel as if he were losing the war?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:
> 
> tôren - my brother  
> edhel - elf (sing)  
> fëa - soul  
> pen-neth - young one  
> Ada - father (dad)  
> Maer aur - good morning  
> mellon-nín - my friend  
> meldir - friend


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning - disturbing imagery of possible non-consenting sex.

Haldir's thoughts drifted as he walked back from the library to his talan. The afternoon had passed swiftly, and he and Glorfindel had worked well together in their compilation of notes from the first day's findings. Glorfindel had returned to the North Room within an hour of departure and just as Haldir had made no enquiry into the welfare of the dark-haired scribe, so did Glorfindel refrain from offering any update on his progress. Before leaving for the evening, Haldir had made arrangements to begin early morning sparring sessions with the seneschal, starting two days hence.

"I had been prepared for a month on the border," Haldir had said in earnest. "My body yearns for action and three months in a library will otherwise drive me mad!"

Glorfindel had agreed willingly, for although Haldir was an expert archer he was also highly skilled with the long sword, and Glorfindel had always enjoyed the intensity of their training sessions.

"I will not spar tomorrow morning, mellon nín," explained Haldir. "It takes much effort to prise the elflings from their beds and I will not be able to convince them to rise of their own volition."

Glorfindel had laughed at this statement. "Ai, I well remember those days!" Yet he did not elaborate on his statement, and Haldir did not feel that he could enquire further.

This and much more ran through his mind as he took passage through the city. It was with great surprise - and much concern to him - that he found that his steps had brought him involuntarily to the Halls of Healing. For long moments he stood at the doors to the infirmary, at war with himself and the realization of his subconscious desires. What harm would it do to visit the scribe? Surely it was a compassionate thing to do, to show concern and sympathy for the health of a fellow edhel? Haldir sighed, knowing that it was not simple concern that brought him to this place, but a memory of eyes and lips, and long brown hair lit with the colours of autumn.

His head won, defeating his treacherous heart, and Haldir turned away from the doors - yet still he did not return to the path that would lead home. Instead he took a narrow trail through the encompassing trees, skirting the buildings of the Halls, to find himself at the rear of the structure. As much at ease above the ground as on it, and with no eyes upon him, the Galadhel took to the treetops, where his grey raiment afforded him camouflage within the foliage. The small chambers of the less-seriously ill patients shared a slim terrace surrounded by a low colonnade interspersed with decorative columns. Only one set of doors was open at this time - those of Melpomaen's room. From his vantage point Haldir could see a figure moving within the space. He held his breath as the elf padded softly around the chamber - then the solitary elf stepped out onto the terrace. And Haldir gasped.

Melpomaen wore white, a silken shift that curved over his slender figure and enhanced every sweet angle, every sweep of his shoulders and curve of his hips. Slim, enchanting and totally desirable. Without thought, Haldir's hand crept to his groin to caress the growing heat and his tongue slid lightly over his dry lips, begging them to mimic the envisioned softness of that pouting mouth.

"Melpomaen," he whispered, secure in the knowledge that distance held his murmured endearment a secret still. "Mel - no, not Mel. All call you Mel. I shall not. You shall be 'Maen. 'Maen," he rolled the shortened name around his mind, settling it into his heart. " Yes - 'Maen. Mine…"

The scribe strolled easily about the terrace, unknowing of the admiring gaze bestowed upon him. He stopped by the clematis flowers that grew in gentle splendour over the slim pillars, lifting one to smell it. As he bent over to partake of its fragrance the dark hair tumbled over his shoulders and the sun lit the falling tresses, kissing the red strands to life, bringing forth their sunset gleam. A quick toss of the head as he straightened again, and the luxurious fall spilled over the white-clad back, its beauty paramount in the stark contrast of colour, just as Haldir had hoped. At the glorious sight Haldir rubbed once more through the leggings straining over his engorged member, and released a faint groan.

Melpomaen's head whipped around and Haldir froze. He could not have heard that! It was impossible! Still, the young scribe searched the overhanging trees as if in pursuit of a voyeur. His eyes did not lock onto any one area, and Haldir released the breath he had been holding, feeling the tension slip away. He had escaped detection.

The young ellon relaxed too, and Haldir determined to wait until Melpomaen returned to his room before making good his departure. He was thus surprised when, in a sudden motion, the darkling elf raised a hand to his mouth and pressed his soft lips firmly to his fingertips - then blew upon them as he threw out his hand to release the kiss to the wind. Without thinking Haldir reached out his own palm, catching the invisible kiss in his quickly folding fingers.

" 'Kiss-catch'!" he thought in amazement. Indeed the actions were the same as the ancient game that Haldir had played with his own mother when he was but an elfling, the playful game of sending love and kisses across a distance. He looked down at the folded fingers then slowly unfurled them, raising them to his own lips. The caress of fingers startled him for, instead of the calloused tips of digits used to harsh treatment upon a bowstring, Haldir felt the kiss as a touch of velvet upon his lips. Of velvet petals of rose pink, and a following sweep of heated dampness, like a tongue licking its way teasingly in exploration of said mouth.

Haldir trembled as he returned the distant kiss, his hand tossing the message of love as his lips blew forth the breath of hope. For long moments he endured, thinking that his action had been in vain and that it was but a silly gesture, then moisture filled his eyes as he saw Melpomaen lazily reach out his hand to capture the unseen kiss from the hidden Marchwarden. A tear slid forth when the scribe lifted the hand first to his lips, then his cheek and finally cradled it against his breast, next to his heart.

It could not be explained, this communication between the two elves, yet the communion was there, sweet and precious in its new and fragile existence. The barriers that held Haldir apart from this exquisite ellon were slowly falling. Haldir sat and looked at the fey creature, seeing only the conflict of oath and heart - and he knew that he was lost.

 

****

 

Haldir saw that the oil lamps were already burning in his talan, and delicious aromas assaulted his senses when he finally reached and opened the door. The elleth within smiled happily as two young elflings leapt from their supper to land upon their favourite uncle.

"Uncle Haldir, will you read me a story?" "Can we finish those arrows, Uncle Haldir? Adar let me practice on some of his, and now I'm *really* good!"

With strong hugs and assurances all round, Haldir and Meluiwen managed to settle the children back at the table, and Meluiwen ladled another portion of the venison stew into a bowl for Haldir. The marchwarden protested.

"Meli, this was supposed to be a night off for you both - you didn't have to prepare all of this!"

His sister-in-law shook her head, topping up the serving with one more spoonful.

"I had to cook something for the children anyway, and I know that you have been working hard and would not have a chance to prepare anything yourself. This way you can concentrate on the fun part of being an uncle. There is an apple pastry dessert over there on the side." The golden-haired elleth smiled and touched his cheek. "It is you who are doing the favour for us, Haldir. It is I who must thank you for this night, for I do miss my husband when he is gone."

Haldir embraced his law-sister and placed a light kiss on her forehead.

"He hardly deserves you, Meli. None of us deserve such a lovely sister - but we are very glad that we have you!"

Meluiwen coloured and gave Haldir a chiding pat on the shoulder.

"And I love all my brothers very much!" she laughed, and then paused for a moment. Haldir was sure that his brother's wife was going to make a comment, but then she shook her head and, giving a final hug and a wink, said, "And now I must go for Rúmil can be most impatient at times." Meluiwen moved to kiss her two offspring, who were eagerly finishing their meal. "Be good for your uncle, my darling brats!"

Haldir escorted her to the door, and he could not help but speak.

"You did not enquire as to the status of my private life, Meli, yet I feel sure that Rúmil would not have remained silent on this matter."

Meluiwen shook her head. "He did not, Haldir, nor did Orophin or Doron. Our talan has become a council chamber, filled with debate. That is why I have chosen to keep my peace, so that in this turbulent storm being generated by your brothers, you may at least have one quiet harbour in which to rest."

The archer hugged his sister once more, gratitude evident in his whole body. Meluiwen felt him shake with the repression of emotion, and closed her eyes in silent prayer to Nienna to grant Haldir solace and peace. When she had gone, Haldir turned to the expectant children and grinned.

"All right, pin nith - it's playtime!"

 

****

 

Once again Haldir was experiencing a sleepless night, even though he was both physically and mentally exhausted. Alagion and Tólaes had joined him in a fast game of 'Bones', the childrens' favourite childhood game. As the younger, Tólaes went to bed first, snuggling deep into the covers of the bed that had once been her father's, so many long years ago. Although Alagion, as a stripling of twenty-nine years, protested that he was too old for a bedtime story, yet he too was as enthralled as Tólaes at the tales of dragons and dwarves and hoards of gold that Haldir spun so well.

Alagion was allowed to stay up a little longer and Haldir was pleased to see that his nephew had indeed improved his skills in fletching.

"And Adar has been teaching me how to use my wonderful bow, the one that Father Rhîw gave to me last Yuletide."

Haldir smiled. Even at this independent age, young Alagion still wanted to believe in the childish things in life, a conflict which would no doubt be assuaged in coming years. As it was, Haldir knew that Rúmil had spent many long hours carving the bow, here in the family talan, as his secret gift to his son.

Now at last both elflings slept in his brothers' old room, peaceful and happy, and the Marchwarden could take stock of the unexpected direction his life had taken within the space of one short week. He looked at his rack of fine wines, feeling for the first time the urge to open and down every bottle of his extensive collection in a binge of misery. He sighed and shook his head. There was no answer there. Instead he took a small pan and heated some water, then poured the boiling liquid over a selection of herbs to steep. A gentle soothing tea would serve him better and nullify his chances of another blinding headache in the morning. He sat on a comfortable chair within the living area, surveying the talan in which he had grown up.

Over the past two millennia Haldir had often envisioned a family filling these rooms, and had heard within his mind the cries of laughter and joy that elflings could bring. Yet in all his dreams this family had been an amorphous vision of blond hair and willowy shapes. Never had he seen any clarity in the figure of his wife, nor any features on the faces of his offspring. Vague hopes, wistful dreams that had invaded his life more and more, but never had he been able to pin down who would fill those glaring vacancies in his world, nor who would sit opposite him in matrimonial harmony.

He glanced once more at the closed door behind which his niece and nephew slept. Logically he knew that as an uncle he had the best part in their upbringing and, for Alagion at least, he knew that he was the dashing warrior uncle, high in status and reflective glory. But his was not the hand that wiped away sad or cross tears, and his was not the voice raised in chastisement or grief. From Rúmil's exasperated tales he had heard of sleepless nights and the misery of teething; the endless battles over meals, schooling and perceived bedtimes. These had never featured in his dreams - his fantasy - and now he wondered if his fantasy family should remain precisely that. The nebulous golden elleth was now gaining dark red hair and a small, strong frame. Instead of a docile, doting, simpering elleth, it was an intelligent, slender, beautiful ellon that he was envisioning in the seat across the hearth.

He looked up again, this time to the door to his bedchamber. In that room he had pleasured many she-elves, had taken them and invaded them and begged within his heart for his soul to respond. As he stood now, carrying the oil lamp and walking slowly to the door, he felt a presence beside him and he dared not turn to see the empty space but instead indulged in the whimsy of the sensation of companionship in the encompassing darkness of the Lórien night. He pressed the handle of the door and entered the room, lifting the light. The gentle flicker of the flame lit the room to its corners, revealing no hidden secrets. The bed was made in the fashion he had done so for all his time as a Galadhrim - spare, functional yet comfortable. As a concession to his many conquests he had a luxurious quilt and silken sheets that he had always prepared in advance, but he had no need for such luxuries when alone.

On that thought, that depressing thought, Haldir winced. He did not want to be alone any more; he did not want to be thought aloof, repressed or casual in his attentions. Instead Haldir acted, an impetuous decision that prompted him to place the lamp on a side table and sweep the present bedclothes onto the floor. As one possessed he moved to his press, opening it to remove the said bedding and quickly remade the bed in the sensual fabrics. Next he took extra candles from the cupboards and lit them, sending sparkles of light twinkling about the room, some within oil burners which sent forth an aroma of cinnamon and orange. All logic was gone and in its place was a whirlwind of desire, preparing for the moment that would change his life. His work was soon completed and he turned to face the renovated bedchamber. Yes, this was what he wanted to be like - wild, sensuous, excited. This was where he would bring his loved one on their first night of passion; his soulmate, his 'Maen…

Reality crashed in, as he finally admitted to himself the depth of his attraction to the ellon. He had spoken but a dozen words to the elf, he knew naught of the likes or dislikes of this scribe, he did not even know if Melpomaen liked him, yet lust and desire and need were there in his heart. Aye - and love - but even in this recognition of his love he knew that the one he longed for was not here in this room, not here in his arms - and most likely never would be.

Haldir sat heavily on the edge of the bed and rested his head in his hands. How had it come to this? The choice, his oath, had fallen from his lips so easily upon his father's death. He had wanted so much to confirm in his actions the many discussions he had had with his sire, the memories of the long strolls under the mallorn trees where his father had talked about the joy that children could bring.

 

.......

 

"You and your brothers," his father had said, "you are my reason for living. In you I see a continuance of the *good* things of my own father, as in you children I hope that you will see a reflection of me." His father had placed his arm around Haldir's shoulders, pulling him tight against him. "You are the reason that I do not resent my path in life, ion nín. I did not seek this path but once my feet were set upon it, in you I found my solace."

Haldir had glanced up, concern upon his small face. "And Naneth, Ada," he had said uncertainly. "You *do* love Naneth too."

Celegon had smile wanly at his son's doubtful tones and he spoke to support the filial love that Haldir had for his mother. "Yes, your mother has been a gracious presence in my life. Gracious, gentle, and generous in a much greater measure than I have ever deserved. I love your mother for all she has given me - very, very much."

Haldir had pondered on these words, for he had sensed that in many ways the son was closer than the mother in Celegon's affections. He had decided there and then to be worthy of that love, that he wanted to make his father truly happy and proud of him.

"When I grow up, Ada, I will marry and have *lots* of elflings so that you can have many grandchildren to climb upon your knee. I promise, Ada. I swear. I want to make you proud of me."

Celegon had turned sharply to his son at these words, grasping at Haldir's shoulders. His face was solemn, his eyes intense and, for a moment, Haldir had been alarmed.

"Ion nín, all I will ever ask of you is that you will live your life to the fullest - and make your *own* choices. Do not make these promises now, for you are young and have not yet learned all the ways of our people. We are all so different, Calaquendi, Laiquendi, Moriquendi. We differ in our temperaments and laws - Noldor, Silvan, Sindar. Although I was born here in Lothlórien, I was raised to be true to my Greenwood forebears, and the values and teachings of our Sindar kings were most firmly embedded within me by my father. Those values have - ruled - my life. I hope that you have benefited from my lessons, Haldir, for I have tried not to impose upon you beliefs which have no place in this Golden Wood. You are Silvan, my beautiful son. You are of Lórien. Listen to your heart, Haldir, though do not let it dictate your every step in life. Allow it to speak when the time is right and follow it, no matter what the consequences."

Haldir's heart had pulled him to his father's chest for though he had not understood the full import of his words that day, yet the elfling had understood that within the older elf there was a hollowness, an ache which had shadowed his father for his whole life. All Haldir had wanted to do was to ease that ache, and still he had thought that his determined oath was the right one. His father had not accepted it now, but Haldir knew that he would take it when he was older. He had never swayed from that thought, save for two events which had served in the end to strengthen his belief that the love of an ellon was not the way for him. Haldir flinched from those memories, full of pain and fear, preferring to set them firmly back into the hazy mists of dulled recollections.

 

..........

 

Finally Haldir had taken the pledge in silence and in secret on the day that his mother had died. When finally he took ship to the West his sons and daughters would accompany him, and they would rush forth to greet his father and mother who, surely by then, would be reborn. The oath had stood for two thousand years, and long had he search for the elf who would fill his heart. None had come forward, and now he faced the decline of the Eldar in Middle Earth and the exodus of his kin. Soon he too would have to travel and he would see the disappointment upon his father's face, and he would know that he had failed him. No, no elleth had come forward to fill the place at his side - but now he had seen the ellon who was his heart's desire.

Glancing sadly at the extravagant decor, Haldir retreated to his bathing chamber where his ablutions were performed as rote for his mind dwelled on other things. Finally naked, he lay down upon the silken coverlet and let the material glide under his hips and shoulders. Beautiful, soft, sensual covers. A small movement teased his sensitive nerves and he closed his eyes to revel in the sensation.

His hands slid slowly over his firm skin, over muscles honed by dedicated training and wondered how the soft flesh of the scribe would feel next to his - how the scribe would feel beneath his body. 'Maen would be gentle, diminutive in his stature - a treasure to hold and cherish. Yet under that silk he sensed that there lay steel and a strong mind. So how would Haldir of Lórien approach the ellon? Would he be arrogant in his taking of the Noldo, acting as he so often did in the ordering of his troops? Strong, firm-willed, adamant in the rightness of his command?

No, he knew that he would not. He would mould himself around the lithe body, protecting his perfect 'Maen from all evils, all importunities against the sweet elf. He would kiss him with intensity, exploring the crevices of the warm cavern, tasting honey within its depths. He would hold the edhel against his body, claiming the heat rising from the smooth skin, stroking its surface until the librarian begged for the torture to end in rapture. He longed for Melpomaen, he longed to hear sweet cries, soft moans, gentle pleadings for more - more love, more heat, more Haldir.

The moans came now from the back of Haldir's throat as his hands explored across his broad chest. A hand flew out to the bedside table, clutching for the cool balm that he kept there to caress into his hands each night in an attempt to soothe the calluses. Scooping some of the slippery lotion onto his palms, he massaged it across his chest, coating the nipples, pinching the nubs so that pain and pleasure leapt through his body. A zephyr of wind blew in the open window and rolled lazily around the room, caressing the peaked ear tip as if it were hot breath from between rose pink lips; trailing across the moist teats causing such pleasure to flare that the warden arched off the bed in sudden delight. It was as if a light tongue had flicked across the nipples and in a moment of foresight he knew that another ellon was pleasuring himself this night. Haldir licked his lips gently, laving them in his saliva, and murmured the name of the one he wanted in his arms.

" 'Maen..."

His ears deceived him, for the branches blew in the quickening wind and an answering cry echoed within the elevated chamber.

"Yes, yours..."

One hand slipped lower, spread full width across his abdomen, stroking the developed muscles there in pretence of softer, lighter touches. The grating of the hard calluses faded away as imagined velvet and silk caused his member to twitch and harden even further, its tip beginning to weep its longing. Another gust of wind, and a hot breath and soft tresses glided over the thick shaft, sending shudders through his body. Desperately wanting to advance the pace in his need, a finger ran up its length, traversing around the leaking slit, spreading the sweet pre-cum as if in preparation for penetration. How would he feel, this ellon. How would any ellon feel? As warm and wet and welcoming as an elleth? As tight as a maiden?

Haldir's hand closed firmly over his member, so swollen and purple with the blood of desire. With a tight grip he began to rhythmically stroke the shaft, envisioning it within his beautiful 'Maen. Still sleek with balm, he felt it slide through his fingers just as it would slide within the velvet channel - silken shaft of steel within a hot velvet glove. Encompassing. Caressing. Loving.

As a fire began to build within his groin, so did a scene within his head - not of taking, but of being taken. Would 'Maen want this? Did he, Haldir, want it? Two ellons he pictured, one knelt before the other upon hands and knees, presenting that precious orifice to be claimed. Haldir tried to place himself in the dominant role, tried to see himself pressing against the tight ring, demanding entry into heaven's embrace, yet the hair of the thrusting male was dark, red highlights spilled over curved back, mingling with silver-gold hair. So little he knew of this act, so little he had wanted to know. No virgin to physical sexual activity was he, and yet his heart pounded in trembling anticipation of his first time of true loving union, even in this dream. It would mean complete surrender, a surrender of body, of mind of heart - of fëa. Hesitantly he lifted a finger to his mouth, circling it within his lips, laving it with his tongue. Could he? Dare he? What if…? 

Haldir's heart hammered within his chest, threatening to break free of its cage of ribs as he lifted his legs wide and reached to place the moist finger at his entrance. The other hand held tightly onto his member, its fullness now waning slightly in incipient fear. He stroked the length, willing it back to weeping anticipation. It would be Melpomaen doing this to him, this would be his slim finger, his gentle hand. The finger tempted the puckered rose, circling it as a lion circled its prey. His breaths became deeper as he exhaled slowly, forcing his body to relax as the digit ended its tantalising, teasing circuits and pressed forward into the opening. Resistance, and a sharp flinch as the edge of a nail scraped the sensitive flesh. He gathered his courage and a silent tear trailed over a fleshy cheek when he felt the pressure give to allow the tip to enter. It did not feel too uncomfortable, not like the first time, not like…

Pain! Sharp, excruciating pain, as if he was being torn apart, filled and fractured by ferocious, unwanted intrusion! Memories flooded in, turning the slight physical sting into a roaring flame of remembered agony. Twisting, violent, endless, agony. Muscles clenched in denial of entry; firm, squeezing upon the invader and expelling it in repulsion of that which had hurt him so long ago. Haldir cried out, choking upon the scream which echoed down through the millennia, remembering at the last two innocents in close proximity whom he could not wake, who could not be allowed to see him like this, broken once more. Innocent, as once he had been before the brutal attack when he was…!

"No!" 

He rolled from the bed and cried out as he crashed to the floor. 

"No!" 

No, not again, please don't hurt me again!

"No…" 

The word was spilled from his lips in a torrent of tears, and he knew that his hope was gone, as was the desire that had raged through him but minutes before. Now he was as limp as his lost arousal, weeping copiously as he realised that all hope was lost. "'Maen!" he moaned, he whimpered. "Mine…" 

But even as he said the beloved words, he despaired in his heart that it could ever be so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:
> 
>  
> 
> mellon nín - my friend  
> pin nith - little ones  
> Father Rhîw - Father Winter  
> ion nín - my son


	5. Chapter 5

The next seven-day was a brief and peaceful interlude in the present turmoil invading Haldir's life. Meluiwen had collected the children in the morning, and he waved a wistful goodbye to them before setting off to the library. The work was proceeding well and, because of the absence of the dark-haired scribe, Haldir felt much more at ease in his normal form-fitting clothes than the formal garb of the Galadhrim. It would be incorrect to say that he was unaware of the many admiring glances from both the Lórien and Rivendell elves, but for once he was unaffected by them. Not one of the aspiring ellith or ellyn impinged upon his soul. 

On a more physical front, the sparring sessions with the golden lord were as a godsend to him. Each morning he released the tension that was the result of the many fraught dreams that had invaded his reverie. He found himself longing for this studious servitude, a task which would have once been a delight to him, to come to a swift end. The prospect of facing the young elf who had inspired those dreams now caused him to count the days before he returned to the borders.

Haldir had not returned to the Halls of Healing. Each evening before he set out from the library he had focused his mind upon the route he must take home and had deliberately taken each step as if it were a challenge not to deviate from the path. Nor did he dwell upon his oath, or the ellon who was such a threat to its preservation. To occupy himself, Haldir had laid plans for each evening's usage - a concert with Meluiwen; a swim with the children; a dinner with Doron - and tonight was an evening in the city with Glorfindel and some of the visiting elves. Although Glorfindel was well acquainted with the variety of entertainments and refreshments available in the City of Trees he had asked Haldir for his own recommendations as to the best taverns and halls of song. The Marchwarden was glad to oblige and participate, for he much preferred to avoid too much solitude and opportunity for contemplation at this time.

The jovial party met at one of the glades within Caras Galadhon, near an area known for its glades surrounded by small businesses and stalls manned by artisans of all kinds. Here too were found some of the refreshment houses allowed by the Lord and Lady. Although to outsiders the realm of Lórien seemed to be a haven of somnolent gentility, still the energy and ferocity of its guardians required a somewhat more basic outlet than the gentle choruses which echoed through the mellyrn. Haldir knew all the taverns and inns frequented by his men, for he often joined them in comradeship and celebrations.

The inn that Haldir led them to was one of the gentler establishments. Host to a convivial atmosphere, the inn was a multi-tiered series of talans allowing for private dining or larger groups. As well as fine wines and ales and excellent food, the inn boasted resident minstrels and a glade for dancing by its patrons. The Marchwarden was a frequent visitor and much respected by the elves of Lothlórien, and so his party was greeted with warm smiles and a favoured alcove on the main floor.

As they took their seats and placed their orders, Haldir noticed that Glorfindel was looking around the room, his sapphire eyes seemingly searching for something rather than admiring the décor. 

"Is something wrong, mellon-nín?" Haldir asked in polite enquiry. The seneschal shook his head.

"No, I was just looking for someone. He said that he would come..."

Haldir looked around the group and did indeed see some faces missing, but he was not particularly surprised. The scribes of both groups had become great friends and some of the elves of Imladris had accepted private invitations to dine in the talans of their Lórien counterparts. Indeed, even now Doron was hosting a dinner. It was as Haldir was taking his own survey of the scene that Glorfindel cried out in satisfaction.

"Ah, here he is!"

Haldir turned to greet the newcomer - and experienced the peculiar sensation of his heart both rising in delight, and plunging with dismay.

Melpomaen raised his hand in greeting and crossed the floor of the tavern, a gliding vision of beauty in Haldir's eyes. His long dark hair sparkled with auburn highlights in the reflected light of the room as it spilled loosely over tunic-clad shoulders. The tunic was of a rich forest green edged in silver, with ornate silver buckles as front fastenings. Silver-grey leggings enhanced the perfect proportions of his lower limbs and low boots completed the ensemble. In his forthright admiration of the slight figure Haldir did not recognize a similar appraisal by the young scribe, nor his approval of Haldir's chosen arraignment of red tunic and dark grey leggings - but someone else did. The person forebore to comment, casting only a sharp glance at the Marchwarden, but rose instead to great the ellon.

"Mel, pen vuin! I thought that you were lost!"

Melpomaen was swept into the seneschal's arms, a greeting which the young scribe accepted with enthusiasm.

"Ai, Ada! There is nothing wrong with my sense of direction. I was late, not lost."

Glorfindel noticed Haldir's look of confusion, an expression he had seen when he had mentioned a 'son' in previous conversation. Surprised himself that Haldir had not known previously of this situation, Glorfindel decided to put to an end the teasing torment which he had been enjoying, and put his old friend to rights. He hugged the young scribe close, kissing his dark head tenderly.

"You have not met our Melpomaen properly, have you Haldir? This young imp -" Melpomaen jabbed the Elda sharply in the side in mock anger, " - came to us as a babe, an orphan whose parents had died in a fire in their isolated village." His voice lowered at the sadness of this recollection, but Melpomaen simply stroked the front of Glorfindel's tunic in gentle support.

"Anyway," Glorfindel continued, "Mel was taken into Elrond's household as a ward of Imladris, but it was to my bereth that the young brat became attached and, by default, to me." He smiled fondly down at the dark-haired ellon, whose face glowed at the pleasure in the seneschal's voice. "We are both very, very proud of our surrogate son. He has Erestor's love of books, and my very refined sense of the ridiculous!"

Another affectionate squeeze showed the familial nature of the bond between the two elves of Imladris to be so genuine that Haldir felt his heart warming at the sight. Melpomaen's eyes glowed with an inner light of love and tenderness, and Haldir did not realize that he was staring until Glorfindel's words brought him back to the present.

"So - when do we eat? It smells delicious!"

The meal was excellent as was the wine. Melpomaen sat next to the seneschal and Haldir opposite them. The conversation flowed freely once the Marchwarden realized that if he focused on the seneschal, his words would actually egress his mouth. His eyes kept being drawn back to the gentle scribe and it took much effort not to gaze solely into his chocolate depths. It seemed that he was not the only one affected thus, for he felt rather than saw the brown orbs upon him, pouring over his face, admiring his strong features.

"The music is well performed, Haldir, but I presume that the tempo will increase for dancing later?"

Haldir nodded, looking at the empty dance floor and the dais holding the small group of musicians.

"Aye, Glorfindel. That is one reason that I chose this place, for it is one of the most convivial within Caras Galadhon. Look - already we have some eager dancers."

Indeed a couple had moved onto the floor to perform the gentle, swaying steps of a loving dance. The elleth was extremely fair and was obviously much appreciated by her spouse as he neatly led her round. Haldir smiled for he recognized the couple as the Marchwarden of the Southern Reaches and his lovely wife. He nodded cordially to his counterpart, of whom he was nominally commander. Haldir did not usually interfere with the ordering of the other watches, preferring to meet with the other marchwardens when a need arose, and to order only if the Corps as a whole was affected. This trust had gained him the overwhelming support of his wardens, and a friendly rivalry had sprung up that only benefited the Galadhrim in their drive for excellence.

"Do you dance, Haldir?"

The sudden question was gently spoken, but there was an underlying invitation implied. A frisson of fear ran through the warden before he replied.

"No," he told Melpomaen. "I do not dance." He hoped that the ellon would not follow up to discern his reasons, but it was one of the Lórien librarians who dashed Haldir's hopes.

"Nay, Haldir!" the scribe intervened. "You *do* dance, and dance extremely well! Why, the ellith cluster around you in their desire for your attention. You should see him dance, Mel. I swear that there are inches between the grass of the groves and the soles of his shoes, so light does he lead the ladies."

Melpomaen nodded, the regret showing in his eyes.

"I see," he murmured, trying to hide his disappointment. "You only dance with ellith."

Sensing the palpable withdrawal of the young elf, Haldir cursed himself for his ineptness in addressing the situation, and cursed the other scribe for his inappropriate yet accurate revelation. The Marchwarden bit his tongue, fighting an urge to pull 'Maen into his arms and lead him onto the soft turf of the glade. He did not have to fight for long though, for his place was quickly filled by a warrior from the Southern Reaches, who had crossed the floor to claim the darlk-haired scribe.

"Our Marchwarden's loss is my gain," the warrior said brightly, bowing to Melpomaen. "I would be honoured if you would deign to tread a measure with me, young sir. I may not be as light on my toes as Marchwarden Haldir, but I am a fair dancer."

There was no way for Melpomaen to refuse and the slim, lithe ellon was drawn into the increasing number of elves indulging in this beautiful setting. Haldir found himself following the scribe, his eyes locked onto his enticing figure weaving through the steps of the leisurely dance. A moan slipped from his lips at the elegant dip and the sensuous sway of the youthful elf, and the exotic fall and shimmer of the red-tinted hair in the candlelight. Gods, how he wanted him. He fought valiantly to keep the lust and longing from his face, the moreso when a certain elf rounded the table to sit beside him.

"Why are you doing this, Haldir?" Glorfindel said in a low voice. The tone was both questioning and furious, and Haldir knew that the seneschal had seen beyond his ambivalent guise. "Mel told me of your first meeting in the infirmary. He was hurt by the way that you fled from him. I do not like to see my pen neth cry, Marchwarden."

Haldir turned his head sharply at this and a cry escaped him.

"He wept? Ai, no...!"

He swiftly sought Melpomaen once more, and he did not need to look closely to see that the scribe's lightness of heart was not totally genuine. The brown eyes turned to him as if Melpomaen had been aware of his gaze and once again Haldir fell into those depthless pools.

"Gods, Haldir - you are so obvious!"

Haldir turned once more to see exasperation on Glorfindel's face. The seneschal grasped his friend's shoulder firmly and made sure of his full attention. The strain in his voice told of the restraint he was bringing to bear upon his temper so as not to draw attention to them.

"I see the need in your eyes, my old friend. The need, the desire and the love. It is the same look that I am sure was on my face the moment that I first beheld Erestor. In one instant I knew that my heart had gone from my body and now resided in his hands. Erestor told me later that the same feelings had passed through him." His face became stern, clearly emanating a warning. 

"Do not believe that *our* relationship was quickly or easily accepted by either of us, meldir. Our opposite natures fought the compulsion for many long years and our verbal sparring battles were infamous due to my open appreciation of my reborn life, and Erestor's more reclusive, self-sufficient nature. Yet from the moment that we accepted our fate our fëar resonated with happiness beyond all bounds." He looked earnestly at his long-time comrade-in-arms.

"Do not fear your union of souls, Haldir. Accept with joy the path which has chosen *you* and I promise, you will not regret it."

The words were spoken from the heart, were wise and given with much hope that they would sooth Haldir, but the Marchwarden could not as yet accept them. His heart was bound with pain and words long ago spoken. He could not voice his regret or explain his resistance so openly. Haldir stood quickly and the tone was as cold as ice in an effort to hide his anguish. 

"My problems are my own, Lord Glorfindel. Whether I have feelings for your ward, as you seem to think I have, is of no meaning here." He glanced sadly at the dance floor once more. "I am of Lothlórien, and you and he are of Imladris. Soon you will return to your home, and all of this conjecture will be moot. Now, if you will excuse me - I need some air." 

With that Haldir turned to stride across the roofless glade, making for the exit of the inn. To obtain his goal he had to pass through the throngs of dancers, weaving a path between them. The dance had just come to an end and the couples were just parting when Haldir came upon Melpomaen and his companion. As if it were fate the dark-haired scribe turned to Haldir as the first notes of the next song were plucked upon the lute. Melpomaen's face beamed with pure unbounded joy as he perceived the arrival of the Marchwarden, seemingly to claim his attentions for the next dance. The dark elf raised his open arms to Haldir, and the Silvan elf was unable to do anything, think of anything, except to hold this creature of light in his embrace. 

The southern warrior stepped back, disgruntled at the apparent arrogance of Haldir's 'cutting in', and returned to his table to drown his sorrows in a pitcher of wine. The volume of chatter in the inn suddenly decreased as, for the first time ever, Lothlórien witnessed the Marchwarden of the Galadhrim dancing with an ellon.

They were lightness personified. Every step was perfectly timed, every turn was taken as though they were one. Haldir was astounded at the unity, the *rightness* of the presence of Melpomaen in his arms, effortlessly gliding through the steps of the dance. In unconscious reflex, Haldir tightened his embrace, never wanting to let his little scribe go. Melpomaen's happiness shone in his face for all to see, and his eyes glowed with selfless joy. Haldir could not help but grin widely at the pureness of the moment. Yet an ache tugged at the back of his mind, a sharp pull on his conscience that began to distract him even as the last refrain began. This was an ellon. He had sworn an oath and the oath, though he had forgotten it for a few brief and wonderful minutes, would not be dismissed. Two thousand years of adherence would not be cast aside and as the dance ended, so did Haldir step back and bow with thanks - but made no effort to prevent another of the scribe's admirers stepping in to fill the newly-formed breach. 

Chocolate-brown eyes looked at silver-blue beseechingly, longing for a hope that this perfect moment was not just an aberration of time. Haldir shook his head, agony ripping through his heart, and turned to complete the exit he had begun but minutes before. The brown eyes watched him leave, and moisture glistened within them to show the loss in their depths.

How long Haldir sat crouched in the lower branches of the tree next the inn he did not know. He registered no discomfort at his unmoving posture, felt no ache save for that of his heart, of his empty arms and of the need for the one person whom he longed to fill them. In the depths of his dark musings he did not weep, but sat as still as the sacred water within the Lady's mirror, his quiet isolation a reflection of his misery. He did not heed the calls and greetings of those elves who were traversing the green beneath the tree, entering and leaving the tavern, until he heard a voice he knew.

"Please, Eruant. I do not wish for your attentions. I thank you for the dances, but I have no interest in pursuing a relationship with you."

The answering voice was slurred by an excess of alcohol, purring in obscene lust as the warrior reached out to catch the scribe and pull him roughly to his chest.

"Who said anything about a relationship, pen vaelui? No, my needs are more immediate as are yours, sweet Melpomaen. Elbereth, I would bet that demure exterior hides a wanton spirit. Let me free it, little Mel. Do not tell me that you wait for Haldir? Nay, he has no interest in you, for our commander is a rampant stud for the ladies. He would not touch you, nor stroke you, nor take you as I would."

With that Eruant grasped Melpomaen's chin with a strong hand, intending to claim the scribe's soft lips in a bruising kiss. Haldir immediately leapt from his hiding place - but not before Melpomaen twisted from the warrior's grip and pushed the elf backwards, even as he hooked a foot behind a flailing leg. Eruant went crashing to the forest floor and Haldir's leap brought him squarely over the fallen elf's body, his muscular legs straddling the miscreant even as his fists balled in overt fury.

"You misbegotten filth! I am ashamed to call you a galadhel! There is *no* excuse for such vile and oppressive behaviour. You are hereby suspended from duty and confined to quarters until appropriate punishment is set for such an evil attack upon a guest of the Lord and Lady!"

The warrior looked, shocked and stunned to see his commanding officer blazing with fury, so different to his normally sharp yet controlled reprimands. In his drink-befuddled haste to escape such violent retribution Eruant began to bluster his innocence.

"He did not protest, Lord Haldir! He was eager to dance -"

"So you thought that he would be as eager to couple?" Haldir reached his hand down to grasp the front of the warden's tunic, hauling him to his feet to stand before him. "You are on leave, are you not? For how many days?"

The elf looked confused. "We came off our watch but three days ago -"

Haldir brought the warden's face closer, staring into the bleary eyes with clear blue chips of ice.

"Marchwarden Orophin is short of one member of his patrol on the Northern Fences. Be warned, Eruant - one more word and you will forgo your leave and join him there. Now go. I will talk to your Marchwarden in the morning. Pray that I am in a better mood then."

He released the warden with a jerk and the warrior fled, taking Haldir's warning to heart. The Marchwarden watched him go, breathing heavily as he damped down his flaring temper. He turned to see Melpomaen who stood to his rear. The young elf was obviously fighting his own racing pulse, for his eyes too were glaring after the shamed warrior.

" 'Maen, are you alright?"

The dark head whipped round, the long tresses floating like the softest of fabrics upon the air. His eyes had widened in incredulity at the shortened name, and Haldir could see that he had somehow recognized this loving but secret appellation. Melpomaen's voice was as a breath upon the wind.

"What did you call me?" he asked in amazement.

" 'Tis but the name that I think of you by," Haldir said softly, moving slowly towards the slim figure. Melpomaen shook his head.

"Most people call me 'Mel'."

"I am not 'most people'."

Melpomaen smiled. "No, you are not."

Their eyes met and an understanding passed between them, that the first step upon an unknown road of discovery had been taken. It took a few moments for Haldir to collect his thoughts and repeat the question.

"Are you alright? He did not hurt you?"

Melpomaen shook his head again. "No, he did no harm. In his state it was easy to avoid him."

"Aye, I saw your movement. Glorfindel's training, no doubt?"

Melpomaen chuckled. "Ai no! If I had acted as Ada taught me, that imbecile would still be unconscious! No, it was Erestor who taught me that avoidance of trouble is the first step to take."

Haldir was watching him closely and saw a slight tremor that the young elf had been trying to hide. His face gave away his dismay and Melpomaen's mouth twisted at the look of alarm that Haldir gave him.

"I think that my exertions are telling upon me so soon after my recovery," he confessed. "It is my first day of release from the Halls, and I truly should have been resting." Indeed he felt as if his legs would go from under him, but Haldir firmly grasped him at the elbows, supporting him. He called to a passing elf.

"Brogon, pray inform Lord Glorfindel that Master Melpomaen is weary, and that I am escorting him back to his talan." He turned once more to the darkling elf, who was looking paler by the moment. "Are you sure that you can walk?"

Melpomaen nodded wearily. "Yes, I can manage if you lend me your arm. I would rather be spared the indignity of being seen as an invalid."

Their progress was slow but steady, and their conversation little as Melpomaen conserved his energy for walking. As they approached the staircase to the guest talans, Haldir looked at the slight and halting figure when Melpomaen winced at the challenge before him. Without discussion he swung Melpomaen into his arms and started to climb.

"Haldir!"

There was a cross expression on the ellon's face, yet a hint of amusement in his voice. Haldir grinned as he gave his one word reply, his eyebrows raised in query.

" 'Maen?"

'Yes, yours...' The words were not spoken but whispered through his mind, through *their* minds, as the two elves locked gazes and their expressions slid from mirth to entrancement. The remaining steps were quickly mounted without thought until they stood before Melpomaen's door, and Haldir reluctantly set upon his feet his most precious burden. Their silent communion continued for a few moments until Haldir finally recognised that Melpomaen should go to rest.

"I must bid you a good night, Master Melpomaen. You should rest." 

Melpomaen nodded, glancing down to avoid those most compelling eyes.

"Yes, I should." He made no attempt to move, nor did the Marchwarden.

"It is late." Haldir placed a finger under Melpomaen's chin and lifted it to stare softly into the chocolate orbs. 

"Yes." Melpomaen moved closer to the warden, the cloth of his tunic brushing against Haldir's chest.

"You are tired." Haldir felt sweet breath upon his face as Melpomaen tilted his head up.

"Yes," the younger elf murmured, his lips so close to Haldir's. So close, those petal lips were beckoning him, begging him ...

Haldir's heart doubled its pace. This was too close. *He* was too close. As much as Haldir longed to... to what? To hold? To kiss? To love and take this beautiful ellon? With each movement his desire had risen. At each breath, each pulse of blood through his veins, more blood had diverted to that which sought to be embedded within the heat of the slender body. He was hard, very hard in his desire for Melpomaen.

No, it was too close and too soon. Pouring all of his strength into his resolve he grasped one of Melpomaen's hands, which even now traversed up the front of his tunic, and he barely refrained from groaning as the fingers brushed a taut nipple through the fabric. Giving the hand a gentle squeeze he pulled back deliberately, causing Melpomaen to lurch at the sudden separation.

"Goodnight, 'Maen."

There was a quick flash of emotions across Melpomaen's face - first surprise, then disappointment and a moue of the lips in frustration. Finally he gave a brief laugh of resignation, yet mischief glinted in his eyes as he pouted at his dismissal.

"Goodnight, dearest Marchwarden. I wish you the *most* pleasant of dreams."

Haldir's member twitched at the sultry blessing - or was it curse? - but he was lighter of heart as the scribe reluctantly opened the door and retreated to his chamber in a final farewell. Haldir sprinted down the steps to traverse the city to his own quarters where he fully intended to dream exactly as Melpomaen had wished him, and to ease his bodily needs in pleasant fantasy.

And in a rebellious and happy act, Haldir of Lórien ruthlessly squashed the loud calls that his oath made upon his unheeding conscience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:
> 
> ellith - female elves (pl)  
> ellyn - male elves (pl)  
> ellon - male elf (sing)  
> mellyrn - mallorn trees (pl)  
> mellon-nín - my friend  
> pen vuin - dear one  
> bereth - spouse  
> pen neth - little one  
> meldir - friend (m)  
> fëar - souls  
> pen vaelui - lustful one


	6. Chapter 6

Haldir's steps across the connecting bridges and walkways to the library were slower the next morning, for the brightness of Anor's rays had illuminated the dark corners into which he had crammed his doubts and fears. That he loved and desired Melpomaen he no longer denied. It had been so very hard to leave him - unkissed, untouched - at his talan the night before; he did not doubt Melpomaen's reciprocation of those feelings. No, the doubts were those of the veracity of his oath, and the fears were of the physical intimacy that would be needed to consummate the union.

He had never wanted to be an oathbreaker yet he could see no way to ask for it to be rescinded. His father either still resided in Mandos' Halls or walked the shores of Valinor. Either way, the oath that had been taken in love and duty to his sire was now as a millstone around his neck, and a barrier to his happiness.

The second - aye, that too was painful to contemplate. The events that had occurred to make the oath so easy to say were not dimmed with the passing of millennia, but now Haldir regretted them even more. Rationally he knew that ellyn who loved other males found enjoyment in their coupling, but he had avoided pondering the acts performed between such pairings, even those of Doron and Orophin. Thus as he thought with longing of the silken body of the scribe beneath his own he shrank from the agony he knew awaited him.

He stopped in his path, eyes tightly closed to prevent the tears that had formed from falling. He loved Melpomaen and he believed that he could trust the beautiful ellon not to hurt him in any way. He did not trust himself, however. He did not know *how* to avoid hurting his bewitching love, either emotionally or…

Taking a deep breath Haldir opened his eyes, recognising that he was but a few steps from the entrance to the library. He was late but that had been unavoidable. He had fulfilled the promise of the night before and had met with the Marchwarden of the Southern Reaches, who had concurred with Haldir's judgement. Eruant was even now en route to Orophin to complete a week's duty there. He was then to be allowed a further week of rest before rejoining his own patrol once more to secure the southern borders.

His meeting with his counterpart had also cancelled his daily sparring session with Glorfindel. What would Melpomaen have said to him, to his Ada? How would Glorfindel react to his new friendship with his young 'son', especially considering the manner in which Haldir had left him and departed from the tavern only the night before? He could only find out by proceeding as normal to his task, for he must continue with his work regardless. He took a deep breath and entered into the library.

All eyes turned onto Haldir as soon as he walked into the room though some of the occupants were more obvious in their curiosity than others. The more discreet made their interest known by allowing themselves the barest of glances to touch upon the Marchwarden; others fixed their intrusive gazes to linger upon his stoic face, finally dropping their eyes only when they registered the disdainful expression in the icy-blue chips, their creeping blushes showing their embarrassment at being caught. One elf approached, his face a mask of deliberate blandness as he greeted Haldir.

"Suilad, tôren," Doron said in a measured tone. "Our work awaits us, dearest Haldir. Will you come?"

Haldir returned the greeting with a smile and a word and moved to the arch leading to the stairs to the North Room. He was very surprised when, once out of the lower library, Doron suddenly tugged at his arm, pulling him forcefully into a nearby storeroom. The librarian shut the door quickly after checking that they had not been observed, then turned to look at Haldir expectantly. Haldir tilted his head and returned the excited look with a silent, non-committal gaze, although he allowed a slight curve to form on his lips. Doron gave in.

"Well?" he asked in a hushed but urgent voice. Haldir held his nonchalant expression, enjoying his brother-in-law's impatience.

"Well what?"

Doron glared at him. "Well - is it true?"

Haldir shrugged, enjoying this too much to give in too quickly. "Is what true?"

"Haldir!" Doron swatted the Marchwarden in annoyance, pouting even as Haldir grinned. "It is all over Lothlórien - well, Caras Galadhon at least," he amended as Haldir's eyebrow rose in disbelief. "The famed Haldir, Lord of Lust and favoured lover of the ladies of Lórien was seen, in a *very* public place, to dance and flirt with the most *delightful* ellon, and had no eyes for any other. Not only that, he then apparently came to blows with a rival for the fair ellon's attentions before exiling that warrior so as to give him sole possession of the little scribe. Oh, and that the wonderfully strong and muscular arms of the Marchwarden cradled the scribe firmly and seductively as they sped to an assignation in a tree-top boudoir!"

Haldir's eyes had widened at this very erotic interpretation of the previous evening's events and were now as round as a full moon. Ai, the gossipmongers were obviously going to have a field day. And now it seemed as if Doron was at the front of the crowd baying for more gossip. He looked into his brother-in-law's eager, expectant eyes.

"Well?" Doron repeated impatiently. Haldir lifted his head, his expression scornful.

"Doron, does the scene that you so 'eloquently´ described sound like *anything* that I would do? Remotely?"

The librarian's face fell and his disappointment was glaringly obvious.

"No," he admitted sorrowfully. "No, I suppose it doesn't. Oh rats…"

Haldir smiled, relenting in the face of such sadness on his behalf. Doron loved him, he knew. He only wanted the best for his brother-in-law.

"The details are somewhat overblown, meldir, but yes - it is essentially true. I did dance with Melpomaen, and I did escort him to his talan when he felt unwell. I carried him because he was too weak to climb the many stairs to his talan. However, Eruant was disciplined for making unwanted, drunken and lewd advances upon 'Maen, not to 'remove him from the field'!"

Now it was the turn of Doron to widen his eyes and his lips curled into a grin, but Haldir held his hand up in warning.

"Do not prepare for a binding ceremony *just* yet, tôren. Our kind traditionally takes our time in confirming the unity of our fëar, and I am in no way ready for that."

Doron nodded in understanding, for it had taken Orophin a decade to woo him. "But you do like him?" he asked.

Haldir smiled wistfully. "It is more than that, Doron. Much more, but remember - this is all very new to me. There are things - obstacles - that you do not know of and of which I cannot tell you. I have much to face before this love can be counted as definite."

Doron nodded once more, not fully understanding Haldir's motives but knowing that even this first step towards happiness was an enormous undertaking for the Marchwarden.

"I understand, dearest brother, and you have my full support." He glanced at the closed door. "I suppose that we had better go."

Haldir laughed. "Aye, and make sure that the coast is clear before we do, else even more rumours will start and we will have Orophin racing back to confront me!"

The way was clear and Doron and Haldir joined their colleagues in the North Room. The response to their arrival was similar to that of the lower library and Haldir had had enough. Lifting his head proudly he looked down his patrician nose as he surveyed the room, daring any elf to make a comment upon *his* actions. The haughty attitude worked as heads were swiftly lowered, save for two. Glorfindel of Imladris simply smirked in amusement and Melpomaen - Haldir smiled gently at the dark elf, who responded in kind, and a tinge of relief and thanks was conveyed in that gentle curve of pink lips. Melpomaen glanced around at the elves who were once again most visibly engrossed in their work and he gave a final communicating grin to the Marchwarden before lifting his pen once again to his own parchment. Haldir's eyes softened as he gazed upon that dark head, hardly believing how blessed he had been. Melpomaen was not only beautiful, warm and openhearted; he was also discreet in his attentions. With one last glance at the auburn fall of hair, Haldir crossed to the golden lord and took his usual place at the small table with the seneschal.

Their studies had reached the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, that fateful and devastating massacre of the First Age, and it had been decided to re-enact the battle upon a model so that they could better see the strategies that had been employed by Morgoth's army. Sauron had by this time become a trusted lieutenant of the fallen Vala, insofar as Melkor had trusted anyone, and so it was believed that the Dark Lord had devised many of the battle formations of the Army of Angband. It was also significant in that Turgon had taken the decision to leave the protection of the Hidden City and bring his host forth into the fray.

"Turgon often said after our losses that it had been a terrible decision," Glorfindel commented in recollection of those times. "Although we undoubtedly reduced the elven losses with our intervention, it was then that Morgoth began to search in earnest for Gondolin."

Now he bent forward over the mock battlefield, adjusting the tiny lines of figures representing the elven army. Haldir stood overlooking the three-dimensional plan, seeking an insight into the battle plans of the evil warlords. Pointing to one of the breaches in the ranks of the orcish forces, he asked a question.

"Morgoth seemed to have left this flank unprotected. Did he not see it?" he turned to Glorfindel. To his surprise it was Melpomaen who answered, his slim hands describing the troop movements in elegant gestures to match his eloquent words.

"That flank was part of his trap," the young scribe explained, pointing to two discrete units at the rear of the vast army. "See here and here? They were to close around the elven incursions, in a pincer movement."

As the dark elf continued his expansive explanation, Haldir could only admire his remarkable grasp of tactics and ponder upon the hidden depths of this young elf. When they finally broke for lunch Haldir was pleased when both the scribe and the seneschal approached him. As he rose and bowed in greeting, Glorfindel grinned.

"Well, Lord Haldir, what do you think of our young Mel now that you have seen him in action?"

The pride in the golden lord's voice was obvious and, on observing Melpomaen, Haldir could see an embarrassed flush form upon his cheeks.

"Aye, most impressive, meldir - although with you as his tutor I suppose that I should not be surprised."

Glorfindel waved away the compliment, although he was clearly gratified at the positive acclaim for his foster son.

"Do not forget Erestor, my dear Marchwarden. With the distillation of knowledge from both myself and my husband Melpomaen had no option but to learn voraciously!"

They all laughed at this for Master Erestor's attention to detail could have been an extreme burden to a less diligent student. Melpomaen had obviously experienced a well-rounded education. Haldir thought back to his last visit to Imladris, no more than two hundred years ago, and another question came to mind.

"One thing puzzles me, Melpomaen. When last I came to Imladris, there was no mention of your existence from either you, Glorfindel, or from Erestor. This visit is the first that I have heard of a 'son' to Rivendell's Chief Advisor and its Seneschal?"

Haldir looked enquiringly at the two elves and saw Melpomaen blush and slide a sheepish look at Glorfindel. The seneschal slid an arm over the back of the chair and leaned against its cushions, raising an eyebrow to the young elf and grinning widely at Melpomaen's obvious discomfort. Melpomaen burst out laughing.

"All right, I confess! It was my fault, Haldir. For a long time I went through an independent phase -"

Glorfindel rolled his eyes mockingly and mouthed 'Obnoxious!' to Haldir, much to Marchwarden's amusement.

"So, I rebelled!" Melpomaen laughed. "I didn't want any privileges just because I had been adopted by Ada and Erestor, and so I tried to downplay our relationship."

"You *disowned* us!" Glorfindel burst out laughing. Melpomaen blushed again and his chocolate eyes flashed.

"I wasn't *that* bad!"

Glorfindel snorted. "Oh yes you were. You were worse!" He turned to Haldir, who was grinning at the exchange. "It was about the time that you came that he was undertaking his training in the Medical Library, so he decided to live in the Healing Halls - he ate, slept, worked and rested there. We were lucky to see him twice a year!"

Melpomaen reached out his hand to his foster father in atonement for his early behaviour.

"Thankfully I came to my senses soon after your visit, and Ada and Erestor eventually forgave me."

Glorfindel squeezed Melpomaen's hand and Haldir saw the great love between father and son, and he felt a pang in his own heart for the loss of his own father, and for the ill-spoken oath that his love had birthed.

"So Glorfindel is 'Ada', but Erestor is…?"

The two Rivendell elves laughed.

"Erestor!" they exclaimed together.

"Ai, Haldir, can you see my bereth ever being a cuddly 'Ada'? No, we both love our Mel very much but he remains as always - Erestor."

The movement of elves about them indicated the end of the break and reluctantly the small group returned to their respective duties for the afternoon. It was as the scholars were packing up for the day that Haldir spoke to Melpomaen again. He did not want to be apart from this young elf whose spirit and heart shone so bright before him. Even as a darkness tugged at the back of his mind, Melpomaen' s light succoured him.

"Melpomaen, I believe that this is your first visit to Lothlórien...? I presume that, with your injury, you have had little chance to explore the Golden Wood. I therefore invite you and Glorfindel to be my guests for dinner, and then I could guide you around the city at least."

Melpomaen looked pleased, but then a shadow fell over his face and he looked sadly at the Marchwarden.

"Oh Haldir - as much as I would love to accept, I cannot. Tonight I am engaged to dine with Ada, as guests of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Perhaps I could accept for another night?"

Haldir was disappointed but knew that and invitation from the Lord and Lady could not be refused. He therefore was very surprised when Glorfindel joined them, shaking his head.

"You go with Haldir, pen neth. This was no formal occasion and I only requested that you be included because I did not want you to be alone. I will make your excuses to Celeborn and Galadriel. We would only have been three old elves, reliving memories that are so ancient that they should have been gracefully retired long ago. Anyway," his grin became full of mischief, "this means that Celeborn and I can get into our cups all the sooner. Galadriel will then pout, express her disgust and retire to her chamber, grateful to leave behind two sodden lords. And that is when we will bring out the *real* anecdotes, ones that could only possibly be amusing to a drunken mind!"

All were satisfied with this and Haldir made arrangements to collect Melpomaen from his talan as the sun was fading. So it was that Anor's light was yet above the horizon when Haldir arrived at the guest chambers. He wore the same tunic, the same outfit that he had worn for his first visit to the Healing Halls to see 'Mel'. He felt that it was appropriate for the bronze tunic was a favourite of his and he did not always want to associate it with negative connotations. He had originally worn it with hope for a new future, as he did how. The future was 'Maen not 'Mel' - but this was what he truly wanted now. 'Maen was his future, if he but had the courage to attempt this love.

The tunic was obviously appreciated by Melpomaen for his dark brown eyes glowed in approval at his first sight of the Marchwarden. Aye, and the desire too was obvious within their chocolate brown depths, a possessive gleam that contrasted sharply with the almost virginal appearance of the scribe. Haldir's breath was caught in his throat as he beheld the slender figure, so shapely ensconced within a slim-cut tunic of fine ivory brocade. The auburn tresses flowed softly over the creamy fabric, just as he had once imagined. Melpomaen was perfection in his eyes. His voice was an awed whisper as he reached out his hand to touch a stray strand of hair that caressed the scribe's soft cheek.

"So beautiful," he murmured, feeling the texture of warm sun in the tress between his fingers. Melpomaen lifted his hand to Haldir's, pressing it to his cheek and leant into the palm. He then brought it away so that he could look at and stroke the calluses upon the fingertips. The brown eyes turned up to pale blue and the corners of them crinkled as his smile filled his eyes.

"Strong - yet so gentle."

The moment encompassed them, swelling within their hearts until it was almost too much to bear. Smiling gently Haldir enfolded the small hand within his and quietly led his little elf down the steps.

Dinner was taken at a small inn in a quiet corner of the city, yet neither elf could recall what they had eaten. Conversation had been focused upon an exploration of each other's histories and recounting of tales of the many years before the momentous event of their first meeting. Haldir spoke of his brothers and their families, and Melpomaen told anecdotes of his life in Imladris. Each word was savoured as they devoured every moment of their lives but once the food was removed both were keen to escape the company of other people, even in such a discreet establishment.

The restful calm of the city permeated their flesh as they walked the aerial pathways of Caras Galadhon. Now that Anor was finally resting, a soft blue-white glow shone through the silhouettes of the mellyrn, and tiny lights proliferated in the tree-top abodes. The city was the epitome of the union of the Firstborn with nature, for the elegant arches of the elven homes were in sympathetic mimicry of the sweeping curves of the mallorn branches. No stone intruded amongst the smooth wood forms nor comprised the ground-level paths. Only grasses, mosses or bark-strewn walkways wound through the thick roots of these magnificent arboreal excesses. Natural beauty abounded through the elf haven - but to Haldir nothing could compare with the elf now by his side. All doubt, all pain was melted away by a single smile from Melpomaen, whose hand he had not released in this stroll through the green city. Neither had noticed the warm and approving looks of the elves they had passed in their perambulations, so wrapped as they were in a world of just two.

As they entered a quiet part of the city, where the architecture faded to more natural forms and the talans were less evident, Haldir pointed to a narrow set of steps leading down from a junction in the path.

"Those are the steps that lead to the Grotto of the Mirror and must not be traversed except at the invitation of the Lady. It is a sacred place, a grove of mystical truths and foretelling." He gestured around him, pointing to various alcoves and glades leading from the winding path.

"There are many private gardens in this part of the city available for quiet reflection, meetings or lover's trysts. A twist of hawthorn branch is placed at the entrance to show that it is occupied. One of my favourite groves has a small pool, and I often go swimming there alone so that I can ease myself of the burdens of my post." He looked shyly at Melpomaen, seeing those chocolate orbs look at him so full of warmth and trust. "Would you like to see it?" he asked hopefully. Melpomaen nodded, his gesture requiring no words to break the mood. Haldir led the way through the groves to his own, thankfully finding it to be free.

The glade was indeed beautiful, for Ithil had now risen and was at such a point in the sky that its rays could penetrate through the dense leaves of the mellyrn, to reflect its globe upon the still waters of the pond. Haldir led Melpomaen to the water's edge where they sat side-by-side upon the warm grass. Haldir moved his arm to encircle Melpomaen's slim waist and was gratified when the young scribe leaned against him, resting his head upon the warrior's shoulder.

"Haldir?"

"Yes, ‘Maen?" he answered softly.

"Have you ever gazed into the Lady's mirror, or ever wanted to? I am not sure how I would feel if I knew my future. It seems that this would negate the purpose of life, to reveal what the years may bring."

Haldir shook his head. "Nay, sweet ‘Maen, your words are true. The mirror, so I hear, does not always show the future, only possibilities. And no, I have not taken that opportunity. Until recently I thought that my path was set, and I did not seek my future. I thought that I already knew it."

Melpomaen shifted in his arms and the scribe lifted his head to look calmly at the warden.

"And I was not in that future."

It was not a question, simply a statement and Haldir could only answer in kind.

"No. I - my future - I saw only a wife, children. The continuance of my father's blood in our line."

Melpomaen became very still and Haldir knew that this had struck as doubt to his ‘Maen's heart. With his free hand he caught one of Melpomaen's, captured it and stroked it, feeling the soft skin so pliable beneath his thumb.

" ‘Maen, you have turned my life upside down…"

Haldir lifted his head to the night sky, his eyes filling with stars even as his throat filled with an ache so fierce that he found it hard to force words past the obstruction. How could he tell Melpomaen of the pain his past? How could he tell him of the oath he had sworn so foolishly, so long ago? He could not. He could not break his little 'Maen's heart; he could only contemplate breaking the oath.

" Maen, my life has been so - empty - as I searched for the elleth who would make me whole, and I had long since begun to despair. Then you arrived and I -" He shook his head. "In my life I have loved but once before, and that was a disaster… I had never thought that I could love an ellon, I never sought one in my life since -"

His throat tightened even more and he found that he could hardly breathe, never mind articulate his thoughts. Melpomaen looked at him in both hope and fear.

"So you have never - lain in love with an ellon?"

Haldir shook his head, thankful that he had not needed to say those words, that Melpomaen had taken them from his recalcitrant mouth.

" ‘Maen, I - I think that I am in love with you, but I do not know if I can - love - you. I do not want to hurt you in any way, pen vuin, but I fear that I will not be able to prevent it."

Melpomaen leaned further into Haldir's arms, his own firmly wrapping around his warrior, holding him and comforting him.

"I cannot believe that you could ever hurt me, Haldir. Although we have known each other but a short time, I have come to care deeply for you. I am stronger than you think, my warrior. I will not break easily, or take hurt at the slightest offence."

The scribe pulled gently away from Haldir who tried to reach for his little love. Melpomaen smiled at him, evading his touch. Instead he knelt before the Marchwarden, capturing his hands and bringing them to his lips to kiss them each in turn. An authoritative gleam shone in his eye and his countenance became solemn.

"Haldir of Lórien, you have caught my heart with your love, your strength of soul and your openness of mind and heart. I now ask for permission to formally court you in the hope that our fëar will resonate in a song that will last forever."

The Marchwarden's mouth dropped open in astonishment at the forwardness and resolution of this little elf. A formal request of courtship always placed a relationship beyond the level of a simple love affair, for it indicated a hope for the future binding of souls. Nay, more than hope - it was the first step towards betrothal. A courtship usually entailed a long, slow exploration of self and of the intended partner, eschewing brief or torrid encounters for a gentle movement towards bodily and spiritual unification. It was precisely what Haldir needed. It was also traditionally requested by an ellon of an elleth. Unsurprisingly Haldir had never thought of himself in the latter role - though he had never before thought that he would be madly in love with an ellon.

Melpomaen now knelt before him, chuckling happily with much amusement at the stunned look upon Haldir's face. As those startled eyes looked at him in astonishment, Melpomaen took it upon himself to clarify his statement. Leaning forward, Melpomaen pressed his soft lips against Haldir's, savouring the fresh mint taste of the succulent mouth in the gentle touch.

The touch was light, but electric. Haldir felt a tingle, a wave of heat pass through him and he longed to extend this sweet kiss, but Melpomaen broke away gently, pulling back to smile once more.

"Why so dumbfounded, Haldir? It is what we both want is it not, meleth nín?"

The endearment slipped naturally from the pale pink lips, and Haldir could only shake his head in wonder.

"Ai, it is indeed to my taste, yet somehow I never envisaged that I would receive a proposal of courtship!"

Melpomaen laughed, his smile now more of a self-satisfied smirk.

"Do not think because of my diminutive stature that I do not have a strong heart or will, Haldir. My guardians have ever imbued me with a firm sense of self-worth. *I* am the more experienced partner in this relationship, therefore I took it upon myself to initiate the courtship." His smile softened. "I hope that is to your liking, my warrior?"

Closing the distance, Haldir cupped the small face between his large hands. Gazing into the trembling eyes, so merry with joy, he could only whisper, "Very, very much to my liking, my adorable scribe."

Then he claimed that pouting mouth once again in a tender kiss that was sweeter than honey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:
> 
> ellyn - male elves (pl.)  
> ellon - male elf (sing.)  
> Suilad - greetings  
> tôren - my brother  
> meldir - my friend  
> fëar - souls  
> meldir - my friend  
> bereth - spouse  
> pen neth - little one  
> ellyrn - mallorn trees  
> elleth - female elf (sing.)  
> pen vuin - dear one  
> meleth nín - my love


	7. Chapter 7

Haldir grinned at the elf by his side as they ascended the winding staircase to his brother's talan. It had been but a month since that first encounter with Melpomaen upon the border and but two weeks since their first kiss, and Haldir knew that they had been the most wonderful two weeks of his life. This elf - *his* elf, his ‘Maen - had filled that aching gap in his heart to the point that Haldir felt as if he would fade from grief if he were ever to lose Melpomaen. Their courtship was still slow, still restrained to kisses and embraces but those kisses had deepened and the embraces had become firmer, and holding ‘Maen in love had been a very emotional moment for the Marchwarden.

Their courtship had not gone unnoticed but after a few sharp words from the stern warrior, any bawdy comments had ceased. Now they were looked upon with affection and, from Haldir's former bedmates, no little jealousy. Both Doron and Meliuwen had taken to Melpomaen and the two ellyn were often guests in their homes. As affectionate with his niece and nephew as ever, Haldir was delighted when the elflings fell upon ‘Maen as another uncle and tickles and screams of laughter rang out when they played with the children. Glorfindel too had approved of their relationship but his approval had been laced with warning.

"My friend you are, Haldir. But if you ever hurt Mel, you will find me an implacable enemy," the golden lord had told Haldir firmly. Haldir had striven to reassure him of his good intentions, but in honesty he could only offer hope to the Elda.

"This - kind of love - is new to me," Haldir had acknowledged. "I love ‘Maen and have no wish to hurt him. However there are - issues - for me to work through before our love can attain a new level. I have told ‘Maen that this courtship must be slow. I only hope that he can be patient with me. I love him, Glorfindel. I never *want* to hurt him."

Glorfindel had nodded in agreement. "Very well. Just - be honest with him, meldir. His love is infinite. Trust Mel and he will carry you through."

Haldir had bowed in appreciation, but in his heart he knew that he had lied to Glorfindel, even as he had withheld the whole truth from his scribe. Melpomaen knew of his reservations, of his lack of experience - of his ‘issues'- but not of their true nature. He did not know that Haldir was finding it difficult even to think of them, or that he had no great confidence that they could be resolved completely. And Haldir had not told him of the oath - that damnable, inconvenient oath that Haldir was trying so hard to bury in the depths of his mind.

Still their time together had been taken with joy. They were in each other's company as often as possible, both through their tasks in the library, as companions at mealtimes and in their evening entertainment. As well as visiting with Doron and Meluiwen, they walked the city under the twinkling lights, had attended concerts and had dined in the many restaurants the city had to offer. They had swum in their quiet pool, although through unspoken agreement they had retained their loincloths to guard against embarrassing reactions for which Haldir was not yet ready. Each conversation had brought forth more of their past, exposing it to the present so that they could incorporate it into their future. Haldir had spoken at length of his parents, not realising that Melpomaen had become aware very quickly of his devotion to his father. Melpomaen had told Haldir of his early lovers and his decision then to await his soulmate in renewed celibacy.

"It will mean so much more when we are finally intimate, meleth nín," The young elf had said, and his hand had reached out to grasp Haldir's, his chocolate brown eyes shining with unconcealed love. Haldir had clasped the small hand tightly, not trusting himself to speak.

Then there had been the encounter with the Lady. Haldir had escorted Melpomaen to his talan one night, and their farewells had been long and loving. Floating on this newfound bliss Haldir had been en route to his own home when he came upon Galadriel. That this was a purposeful encounter he had no doubt, for the Lady did nothing without intention. Bowing in reverence to her, he had fallen in beside Galadriel when she indicated that she wished to walk as they conversed.

"My lord is most pleased with the progress that you and Lord Glorfindel have been making in your studies. You have worked hard and well, Haldir Celegonion," she had said in her gentle tones. Haldir had murmured his pleasure at this praise, and the golden elleth had bent her head in acknowledgement.

"I know that you were reluctant to take up this task, my dearest Marchwarden. Your life, your heart were under threat, but that ‘threat' has become dear to your heart, has he not?"

Haldir had blushed, much surprised that Galadriel had approached him in this matter. His relationship with the rulers of Lothlórien had always been close, yet he had never crossed the boundary into familiarity. That she spoke thus was therefore of great concern to him.

"Melpomaen is indeed dear to me, my lady," he had replied with caution. She had turned to him then, stopping in the middle of the deserted path and he found himself staring into depthless eyes of ancient blue, lit from within by the stars of wisdom and truth.

"Yet your heart is bound by restrictions that you do not understand, and words that should never have been spoken. At this moment your heart is not your own, and you have *no right* to give it to him."

The words were spoken with such stern admonition that Haldir had staggered back aghast. How could she -? When did she -? The questions were useless, for she was the Lady. Of course she knew. Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin held Nenya, the Ring of Adamant; she had the power to see into the hearts of her subjects and none could defy her. She knew all - all of his past, all of his misspent passion, all of his years of pain. All the things that he was trying so hard to deny. And now she was accusing him of breaking his oath!

Galadriel had seen the shock within him and had reached out a hand in reassurance.

"They are not insurmountable, these restrictions. First though, you must understand them, admit them and overcome the past before your release from history misspoken can be obtained. To achieve your heart's desire you must first confront your pain - or face the inevitable loss of your love. Can you do that, Haldir? Can you admit the misfortune of your mistake so long ago? I would have you come to my glade so that I may help you."

The offer was there before him and Haldir did not now know why he had not taken that opportunity. Some called him stubborn, unbending or arrogant. Perhaps so - or perhaps he had locked the incident so tight within his psyche that he feared its release. Whichever, he had queried and had not accepted the offer.

"Is that an order, my lady?" he had asked stiffly. Mournful resignation came over Galadriel's face as she recognised the implied refusal. She shook her head slowly.

"An invitation only, my stubborn warrior," she had said softly and Haldir had looked away, unable to face the gentle reproach in her eyes. "I urge you to think much upon this offer, Haldir. Your will is strong but is it resilient enough to withstand the physical pain that *will* occur if you are to truly join yourself to Melpomaen? Fighting orcs takes one kind of bravery - fighting your own subconscious needs much more courage, Haldir of Lórien."

She had lifted her hand to his cheek, had turned his head so that she could gaze into the stricken blue eyes.

"The more you delay the greater the sorrow will be, for if you fail in your attempt you will have torn Melpomaen's heart as well as your own. I will await you in my glade tonight, if you will come."

Haldir had nodded, but they both knew that this step had to be taken at his own volition.

He had not taken that step to the glade that night.

And now he travelled beside his ‘Maen and he wondered at his refusal to take the Lady's help - and prayed that his love for the little elf would suffice instead….

 

****

 

"So they do not know about us, Haldir?"

Melpomaen looked anxiously at his beloved, seeing that he had startled him from some deep reflection. Alerted to the question Haldir smiled down at his beautiful scribe, his ice-blue eyes gazing lovingly into Melpomaen's chocolate brown.

"I said naught when I met them on their re-entry into the city, save that Meluiwen had planned a celebratory meal for their return. Meli will say nothing, nor Doron, I want to see their faces glow with happiness when they see you, my love. As mine did when you first kissed me."

Melpomaen blushed at the endearment and he pulled Haldir's arm around his waist, burrowing into that firm embrace in his desire to be near this most glorious ellon.

"Do you think that they will approve of me?" he asked hesitantly. Haldir laughed, a loud and joyous guffaw.

"They will think you a gift from the Valar, pen vuin! And Orophin already had high hopes for our love, 'Maen. It was because of you that he nearly ended up with a broken jaw - but I hope that he will have forgiven me our confrontation by now. Certainly he will, when he sees you so close to my side."

Melpomaen's eyes widened at this, then he too laughed for Haldir had told him something of that incident, and he had a fondness in his heart for the brother who had championed him. He leaned closer into Haldir's embrace, if possible; so happy with the elf he had come to love so dearly. Still, within Melpomaen's heart he felt some unease. Their courtship had been slow, and any forward motion either in increasing the pace of their relationship or the depth of their physical contact had been gently yet firmly stalled by Haldir. He knew that Haldir had many reservations and that he was withholding a part of himself in some hidden place. All the scribe could do at the moment was to continue to show his love for the Silvan elf until Haldir felt ready to progress. It meant many late hours relieving himself of his frustrations, though.

They had now reached the level of Rúmil and Meluiwen's home and from within they could hear the excited chatter of the children mixed with the less animated, yet still active conversation of the adults. Over them all came the voice of Haldir's youngest brother as he called to his daughter.

"Pen neth, do you want me to help you set the table for dinner?"

The reply came as a fiercely independent negative.

"Nay, Ada. It is *my* special job ," the little girl said in her childish tones. Melpomaen smiled upon hearing her, for the little one had become dear to him on his visits with Haldir's family.

"But Tólaes, sweetheart - you have set too many places. See, there is one too many for our family."

The small voice became tremulous in Tólaes' anxiety to fulfill her role correctly.

"Ada, I *am* right. Look! There are places for you an' Naneth; for me an' Alagion; those are for Uncles Oro and Doron; an' *those* are for Uncle Haldir an' Uncle 'Maen!"

There was a moment's silence then the sound of a small hand slapping against an open mouth.

"Oops! I wasn't supposed to tell!"

There were immediate cries from the warrior brothers as their spouses could be heard venting their suppressed laughter.

"Doron! Who is this 'Maen?"

"Meli - is it true?"

Melpomaen could hardly stifle his own laughter as Haldir pushed the door open, his generous mouth grinning widely. Together they stepped into the room and into a sudden silence as the wardens recognised the little elf by Haldir's side. Orophin was the one who broke the halted moment of time, crossing the floor quickly to grab at his elder brother. His eyes were suspiciously moist as he hugged first Haldir then Melpomaen, the expression on his face one of unqualified delight. Rúmil followed, as did the inevitable questions.

"When on Arda did you two get together?"

"Haldir, you sly dog…!"

"Melpomaen, how did you seduce this idiot to see the joy that you could bring him?"

"Ai, Oro, I don't think that we should be asking questions of *that* nature with elflings present!"

The brothers quickly forgave their spouses for this happy deception and Melpomaen and Haldir were welcomed at the festive table with much pomp and flourish. In their uninhibited way the brothers requested a full account of this miraculous love affair, although it was Orophin who was the most persistent in his questioning.

"Melpomaen, you do not know how delighted we are to see that you have captured Haldir's heart. I wish you the greatest happiness, and I bow to your obviously iron-clad nerve at taming our pig-headed but beloved brother!"

Melpomaen felt Haldir bristle at the overly enthusiastic words, and gently squeezed his hand under the table. He felt the warden reciprocate the gesture and Melpomaen saw the release of tension in his muscular frame. The scribe tried to focus once more upon the banter of the two brothers. Looking about the table he saw that Doron was siding with his husband but from the slight movement of   
Rúmil away from his wife and his occasional wince, Melpomaen surmised that Meliuwen was silently chastising her husband by sharp but discreet kicks to his shins.

Melpomaen smiled when his gaze settled on the two children. Alagion was pointedly concentrating on his food, for he was at that age where romance was a foreign and somewhat distasteful concept, and he was obviously disgusted that adults would 'behave that way' in front of him. Little Tólaes sat in wide-eyed amazement as she neglected her food, her head instead moving in turn to each of the 'grown-ups' in their mystifying delight in Uncle Haldir's new friend. When her eyes finally fell on Melpomaen she gave a shy smile, her sweet eyes suddenly shaded in embarrassment by her golden lashes. The shyness was momentary, then she slid out of her chair without permission to run around the table to where Melpomaen sat. He opened his arms to her, sweeping her into his grasp before lifting her to sit upon his lap. Contented, she tucked her thumb into her mouth as she snuggled against him and once again Melpomaen wondered if his appeal to children was due to the fact that he was closer to their size than most adults. Across the table Meluiwen had seen her daughter's action and had cried out in protest.

" Tólaes! What *are* you doing?"

Melpomaen laughed as the little girl stared worriedly at her mother, and he interceded immediately.

"Ai, Meli! Please, do not remonstrate with her. I love children, and this little one has sneaked her way into my heart." He looked fondly down at the little elleth, and then a mischievous glint came into his eye. "Indeed, she looks good enough to eat - and I think that I will!"

Tólaes' shrill scream of delight heralded a laughter-filled bout when Melpomaen made diving attempts to nibble her as she squealed and wriggled in a playful attempt to get away. Even Alagion joined in the merriment and Melpomaen's happy face turned to his love - only to be met with a white face, stricken with wide-eyed dismay. The scribe's laughter began to fade but the Marchwarden suddenly blinked and as if on cue added his own laughter to the general outcry. No other noticed, but Melpomaen felt a chill in his heart as he realised that the laughter was hollow, and the sentiment false.

The wriggling child in his arms distracted him once more and the moment passed un-remarked save in Melpomaen's heart. The toll of a busy day and a long evening meal soon told upon the elflings and Meluiwen took the children off to bed after a prolonged round of 'Goodnight!'. Rúmil smiled in thanks at his wife for this was usually his welcome chore but Meluiwen knew that her husband would prefer to stay with his brothers on this, his first night home after patrol.

The wines and ales had flowed and although the elvish constitution was resilient, all the ellyn were beyond the limits of what they would normally drink. It was as Haldir lifted yet another goblet of wine that Rúmil chortled at him.

"Ai, look at the lofty Marchwarden! No common ales for Haldir for he does not deign to let such a trite beverage pass his tender lips!"

Haldir smirked and lifted the goblet in salute to his youngest brother.

"Truly spoken, tôren, for why sully my refined tongue with the sharpness of hops when the rich grape is smoother, and carries the flavour of the summer sun - or the crispest frost of the ice-wines of Rivendell." He turned to his Melpomaen and pressed a soft kiss to his beloved's lips. "Though indeed, the finest vintage and the sweetest fruit is now here, in my arms."

Melpomaen felt his heart swell at the endearments and pressed himself further into the kiss. He knew that this was real, and true, and deep. Still, he felt as if the beautiful words that had flowed from Haldir were not only to compliment him but to ease some ache in Haldir's heart too. Whatever the reason, the sweethearts ignored the delighted whoops of the other three elves.

"Ai, 'Maen," yelped Doron. "For Haldir to become so dripping in gooey sentiment so openly must mean that he is deeper in his cups than we supposed. I fear that you may need to carry the drunken sot to your bed tonight!"

The laughter resounded as Haldir made futile protests at this smear on his character and his ability to hold his drink, and Melpomaen tried to dismiss Doron's offer of help - though he dearly wished that Haldir *was* indeed resident between the covers of his bed. The laughter was hushed as Meliuiwen came out of the children's rooms, gesturing her displeasure at the raucous noise as she frantically signalled for them to quieten. It did not stop Orophin continuing with his dissection of Haldir's drinking habits.

"Well *I* remember a time when Haldir drank ale - aye *and* I wager that I know the reason that he turned away from beers."

Rúmil frowned. "Really? I cannot remember such a time."

Orophin waved away Rúmil's comment, smug in his own recollections.

"It was before both of our Majorities, and just after Haldir's. Do you not remember, tôren?" he asked his elder brother, but then he continued blithely on without waiting for Haldir's affirmation. "I think it was when you had just joined the Galadhrim - ai, it may even have been your initiation night! I remember that I woke to the sound of raised voices - Father's, principally. Aye, that was it."

Even as Orophin gestured and gesticulated Melpomaen felt Haldir freeze beside him. Looking up he saw that his beloved had placed a blank mask upon his face, and that Haldir was faking a look of unconcern. Yet glancing down at the large hands Melpomaen saw that they were tight-clenched and that their knuckles were white with strain. Alarmed, Melpomaen glanced around the room to see if any others had noticed Haldir's discomfort. Rúmil's was concentrated on his brother's tale as was Meluiwen, but Doron was observing Haldir, and Melpomaen could see that he too had noted Haldir's reaction. The sharp eyes of the librarian flickered to those of the little scribe and by only the barest of nods did the librarian indicated his appreciation of the need for discretion. Doron leaned slowly back in his chair, interrupting Orophin's recollections.

"Oh come, melethron. We have all done something foolish in our time. You are embarrassing Haldir in front of 'Maen. Give it up, else I will go forth and retrieve from our talan all those baby toys of yours which *still* adorn our bed!"

Melpomaen laughed at this, both to punctuate Doron's laconic speech and to show his thanks for the librarian's intervention. The thanks were wasted for Orophin did not cease.

"I opened the door to my room and realised that both Naneth and Adar were awake, and then I heard the most awful retching. By the Valar Haldir, I don't know what they poured into you that night but the bucket that Nana had placed by your head was full and stank most vilely. You hair was falling forward and I could not see your face, and the strands looked like rat's tails hanging over the side of the couch as you puked up your guts. And your clothes! Stained everywhere with ale and wine - they must have poured the red wine over you, for you had stains upon your tunic, all down your leggings and even the seat of your pants! I wager that you were not the only recruit that the patrols got soaked that night, for Ada was ranting against both them and that friend of yours - oh, what was his name? Rúmil, what was Haldir's friend called? The one to whom he seemed joined at the hip?"

Rúmil shrugged. "I think that I remember an ellon of Haldir's age, but I do not remember his name."

Orophin would not be deterred and he was as a dog relentlessly gnawing a bone to get at the marrow. He ceaselessly muttered a series of names in the hope of hitting upon the right one.

"Varnir? No - Pelgagen! Ai no, Thangar…?"

"Thalaglar. His name was Thalaglar."

Melpoman started, for the voice that issued from the Marchwarden's lips was normal and controlled in its volume and tone. He would have thought that the muscles of the neck were clenched so tight, the sinews stood so prominent that any words would have been choked before they passed the vocal chords. Now Haldir rested back in his chair and drank in one swallow the large serving of red wine that he had been cradling. Not a drop was spilt yet Melpomaen had to blink back his horrified surprise at a vision of blood-red stains upon the tips of the warrior's fingers. It was but a vision, yet still he saw a terrible tremor in those stiff digits as they clasped firm upon the drinking vessel.

"Thalaglar!" Orophin was exclaiming, spilling his own drink in his excitement. "*That* was his name! The two of you were never apart. It was as if you were bound with sap resin glue." He paused, scratching his head in drunken bemusement. "I wonder what happened to him."

Haldir lurched slightly, quickly disguised as a shift in his chair and in that moment Doron got up and crossed the room to his husband. Hitching his arm under Orophin's, he hauled him to his feet.

"I do not know, my brave Galadhel, but I *do* know that you will have a very fierce head upon your shoulders come the morn. It is time we went and left Rúmil and Meluiwen to their own personal celebration. Say goodnight, Orophin."

The warden snickered, his delight in being fed this delicious line obviously too much to bear. He dutifully obeyed his husband, cackling as he did so.

" 'Goodnight, Orophin' !"

With an exaggerated sigh Doron dragged the stumbling warrior out of the door even as Melpomaen stood to make his own farewells.

"Maer daw, my friends, and I thank you for your hospitality." He stretched out his hand to Haldir who was still seated, staring blindly at the now-empty goblet in his hand. "Haldir?"

Haldir looked up with a start, obviously deep in thought for he looked at Melpomaen without recognition, as if he were expecting to see someone else. As if he had seen that person in his mind's eye. Clearing his throat as he came to his senses, Haldir set the goblet down heavily and struggled to rise.

"Ai, I think that Orophin and I tried to outdo one another tonight. Your splendid fare and your fine liquid refreshments outpaced us, Meli!"

The laugh was dutiful, for the jest was spoken in such wooden tones that all knew it to be politeness at best. After their final bows, the couple left to return home.

'Home' was to be Melpomaen's talan and their usual fond parting but tonight Melpomaen did not want that. Tonight he had seen a dark side to Haldir, a melancholy emptiness that he longed to assuage in companionship, not carnally. He looked up at the Marchwarden, so far away in his thoughts as they walked through the city. If any saw them now who had seen them before in their happiness they would surmise that they had had a lover's quarrel, so remote was the connection between the two elves.

It was only when Melpomaen took Haldir's hand into his own that the warrior recognised his distraction and thus gathered his little elf to his side. Even then the embrace was perfunctory, of form rather than firmness. When they arrived at Melpomaen's talan, Haldir turned him in his arms and bent to kiss him farewell. The scribe leaned into the kiss, the touch of lips that normally brought him to his knees in need and want and love. Not tonight. Although his body responded, as it could not fail to do in this glorious elf's arms, there was not the deep longing nor desire for union that Melpomaen normally felt within Haldir's love. This loss frightened Melpomaen and he clasped his arms around the warden's neck in an attempt to stay his departure.

"Do not go," the dark elf whispered against Haldir's chest. "Do not leave me tonight. Stay with me, rest in my arms, meleth nín," he pleaded. Haldir shook his head, lifting his hands to break the hold that Melpomaen had upon him.

"Not tonight, pen neth. I am tired."

Melpomaen tried to resist the pressure on his arms, tried to press himself closer to the retreating ellon.

"So am I. We can just sleep, just hold each other. I want to lie beside you, Haldir. I want to feel your body against mine. I would comfort you, meleth nín."

The voice became harsh, impatient, as Haldir succeeded in breaking the stranglehold that the little elf had upon him.

"I am alright! I do not need your comfort!" Seeing the startled look upon the scribe's face, the warden tempered his reaction. "I am alright," he repeated. "I am - not in the best mood this evening. This would not be the right time for us to - to…"

Melpomaen squeezed the hands that were holding firm to his, hands that were holding him away from Haldir. Haldir was taking this the wrong way. He misunderstood Melpomaen. The scribe desperately wanted to help his love; to talk to him, to draw out of him all the pain he was so obviously now feeling. To bring to the light all the secrets he was holding in the depths of his soul, to be burnt away by the brightness of their love. He needed for them to break down the barrier that was proving such an obstacle to their relationship. Undaunted, he tried to convey this to Haldir.

"I do not ask for your body, Haldir. Something has darkened your soul tonight. Something to do with your reservations about our love. Talk to me, Haldir. Tell me what happened to you to cause this agitation, then we can -"

"*NO*!"

The word was explosive, and the power of the anger and the anguish behind it forced Melpomaen back as if hit by a blow.

"Elbereth! What part of 'no' do you not understand, Melpomaen of Imladris? I do not need your counsel! I can stand by myself. Alone." A haunted look came into his eyes. "Aye, always alone."

Melpmaen was frightened at the outburst, but more than that he was angry. Angry at Haldir, angry at the rejection of his offer of love and comfort, of the offer of his open heart. He was angry with himself for not persuading the warrior to confide in him. He was angry. Melpomaen of Imladris was no meek elf, and he did not back down.

"You are *not* alone! I am here for you, you stubborn fool!"

Haldir leaned down at this, his face close to Melpomaen's. His lips were drawn up in a ferocious grimace.

"Yes, you are here - but I will be no longer. Tonight I am alone by my own wishes, my own volition. Sleep well, Mel. Sleep alone."

With that he was gone, running down the stairs in his haste to depart the tense encounter. Melpomaen crept into his talan in shock. He closed the door and leaned against it, his body shaking as his knees could no longer bear his weight. He slid down to the floor and, wrapping his arms around the up-drawn knees, he bent his head and allowed his tears to flow in the aftermath of the disastrous farewell. And in recognition of a withdrawal of Haldir's affection.

For Haldir had called him Mel. He was his 'Maen no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:
> 
>  
> 
> ellyn - male elves (pl)  
> meldir - my friend  
> meleth nín - my love  
> elleth - female elf (sing.)  
> pen vuin - dear one.  
> pen neth - little one  
> elleth - female elf (sing.)  
> tôren - my brother  
> melethron - my lover (male)  
> ellon - male elf (sing.)  
> Maer daw - good night


	8. Chapter 8

Melpomaen hissed in annoyance as the chorus of birds greeted the dawn. He was well aware of the changing hours. He had counted them down - second by second, minute by minute - each one as a drop of melted candle wax onto wooden table top, or a drip of rain upon the roof. During the night the weather had taken a turn for the worse and the fall of water from the sky had thrummed upon the talan roof. Not that Melpomaen would have been able to sleep anyway. His heart was too sore, his head too full of the resonating words flung at him by Haldir on the previous evening.

'I do not need your comfort!'

'I do not want you!'

'Sleep alone, Mel.'

It was the last that now made him curl into a ball upon his bed, his arms tight about his waist as he mourned the loss of his love. Of the loss of that endearing name.

' Maen.

The word was as a whisper in his mind and immediately he responded to the name in the same way.

'Yes, yours...'

Even as he thought the words he wished them to be true, that he could live the day, the night over again to amend his stupid words. His fatal actions...

'I am sorry, my love. My ' Maen...'

Startled, Melpomaen shot up in the bed, searching for the one who had murmured those syllables, those words. Searched for that voice he knew and loved so well.

'Please forgive me, ind nín?'

He could take it no longer. The scribe tore back the covers of the bed and, with no regard for his nakedness, he ran to the door of the talan and flung it wide open.

 

****

 

Hearing a gasp and movement within the talan Haldir lifted his drooping head from his chest, twisting in his seat upon the rain-soaked top step nearest to Melpomaen's door. His intake of breath was deep and longing as the door flung open and Melpomaen stood there in the glory that Ilúvatar had intended, unconscious of the exquisite and erotic sight that he made framed by the open doorway. The little elf stared in astonishment at the mass of flowers - elanor and niphredil, spring primrose and baby's breath - that adorned the door latch, railings, and benches of his balcony. The delighted and happy smile upon that beloved face made Haldir's heart leap in hope. Slowly he rose from his place of vigil, knowing that whatever the words he said now, they would be totally inadequate for the hurt he had caused. The hurt that he had promised Glorfindel would never happen. He stood, his face clearly displaying his remorse; his red-rimmed eyes were evidence of a sleepless, sorrowful night.

" ' Maen...?" 

His voice cracked, so tight and raw was the aching throat, taut with the fear that he had lost his little love forever. He need not have trembled, for at the sound of the single word throbbing with trepidation, Melpomaen hurled himself into Haldir's arms.

"I'm sorry!" Melpomaen wept, the words spilling out in great choking sobs against Haldir's chest. Haldir wrapped his strong arms tightly around the slender elf, revelling once more in the perfection of this ellon. He held onto Melpomaen as a drowning mariner clings for life to a log floating on dangerous waters. Melpomaen was his love, his life - his lifeline. For him too the tears started to flow as his relief tumbled forth from him.

"Oh, ' Maen, I thought that I had lost you. I thought that I had pushed you so far away that you could never return to me. I love you, ' Maen. Oh Gods, how I love you! I am so sorry, meleth, I am so, so sorry."

Melpomaen's response was to lift his head, to plead with his eyes and beg with his lips for the sweet taste of Haldir. He longed for that questing tongue, that intimate exploratory battle that was so erotically challenging and tenderly fulfilling. Haldir answered instantly, claiming that pouting mouth with gentle ferocity.

Oh Elbereth! The sensation of bared skin beneath his calloused fingertips was so warm, so smooth. Instinctively his hands began to roam, each touch eliciting a moue of reaction from those precious lips pressed so firmly against his. Melpomaen was not going to release him soon from this kiss, and Haldir was content to be his captive forever. He lifted one hand to the nape of the small elf's neck so that he could tease the sweet flesh protected by that veil of darkness. The other traced a path over the curves of the scribe's body, so exposed, so revealed to him. It moved from the sharp angle of his shoulder blade, across and down the prominences of spinous processes to the cushioned swell of his buttocks, those downy cheeks that normally so pertly filled Melpomaen's leggings. Now they were his, to touch, to stroke, to knead, to pinch. Firmly he gripped them to him and pulled Melpomaen tightly against him.

"Ai! Oh, Haldir, oh my darling warrior!" Melpomaen broke the kiss, unable to stay quiescent when Haldir rotate his hips against him, rubbing forcefully against his throbbing arousal with the thin fabric of his leggings. 

Gone were the finely decorated tunic and leggings of his formal attire. When Haldir had returned, drunk and grief-stricken, to his talan following the meal he had stripped himself of his finery. His aching heart would not let him rest and he had donned lighter garb to venture forth and collect these blossoms as his expression of sorrow and apology to his little ' Maen. Now he wore but these simple pants and shirt, and soft shoes soaked in the rain-drenched grasses of the Golden Wood. Melpomaen's fists were clenched in the thin material, pulling at it forcefully.

"I want to feel you too, Haldir!" 

Haldir placed both hands under Melpomaen's seat, lifting and carrying him into the guest talan, setting him down on the bed before obligingly removing his shirt. Melpomaen reached up to grasp Haldir's arm and dragged him down onto the mattress, down into his arms. 

Now both elves moved as one, the remaining offending fabric being disposed of quickly so that their nudity brought them to a unity of desire and love. The Marchwarden's member was as a twin to the scribe's, swollen and purple with need, pulsing in time with his quickened heartbeat. A thrill of fear trembled through his muscular body as he felt the shafts collide, as they greeted each other in erotic arousal. Haldir shivered as Melpomaen quickly claimed the right to stroke, to touch and tease and demand his ownership of this marvellous body. The shivers were not only due to the cool air against his skin, but to his innate terror of the possible result of this encounter. In his growing panic, his arousal began to fade and Haldir automatically began to remove himself from Melpomaen's clutches.

The little elf looked up, initially hurt at this implied rejection, then surprised at the unease in his beloved's eyes. Haldir saw the concern in the chocolate brown orbs, and his own pleaded silently for mercy from his little love. With a wisdom and understanding beyond his years Melpomaen released Haldir from his grasp, allowing the older elf to lie alongside him, their skin barely touching. Melpomaen looked into his wary silver-blue eyes once more, searching for answers before asking questions. 

"I would touch you there, ind nín," the soft voice whispered, and slowly Haldir lowered his gaze to the small hand that hovered between them, so close to his now-softened member. Melpomaen continued softly, his voice soothing and reassuring. "I love you, Haldir. I want us to be happy. I want to make you happy. Please, may I touch you, stroke you? May I show you how good I can make you feel?"

Haldir groaned, a vision filling his mind of his ' Maen taking him to completion by the same method he had used to relieve himself through so many centuries of loneliness. Unable to resist this enticing opportunity, he forced down the creeping darkness and surrendered himself to Melpomaen's hands.

"I - I love you too, ' Maen. I - I fear...Please, I would know your touch, my beautiful ' Maen. If it is just that and no more..."

Melpomaen nodded, understanding somehow that this was a very tense moment for Haldir. His soft hand encircled the reduced shaft and began to gently stroke it. Haldir groaned as warmth immediately swept over his groin, rewarding Melpomaen's gentle touches with a swift increase in the circumference of the growing member. Tentatively Melpomaen leaned towards him without interruption to the gentle strokes, touching Haldir's lips lightly with the tip of his tongue. An exhaled breath greeted him and the tongue continued its journey into the moist cavern, delving into it once more to taste the depths of Haldir's sweetness. His lips did not linger there for now Haldir was reacting to the rhythm of his hand and was beginning to thrust into the slender grip. Releasing that beautiful mouth, Melpomaen began to place a trail of tender kisses from jaw down past the sinews of the neck to nibble at the prominent collarbone.

Haldir panted at the tentative teasing of sharp teeth against his chest, his breath becoming quick pants of desire. He could feel the tension beginning to rise in his groin as Melpomaen skilfully stroked him. It was at that moment he moaned in dismay when the little fingers left his needy member, only to groan in need once more as his scribe brought his own shaft into the hold. Cries escaped him, of surprise and joy, when Melpomaen began to thrust in tandem with him, and the exquisite friction of the weeping rods brought him higher in his endeavour to reach fulfilment. 

A thumb swept lightly across the tip of his penis just as soft lips latched onto a reddened nipple. The sensation shot through him faster than an arrow, and even as the tongue flicked lightly over the nub, Haldir cried out as he was utterly undone. The hot seed spilled over Melpomaen's hand, triggering his own excited cries of completion. The two elves collapsed against each other, united in their delicious climaxes. After long moments trying to slow his frantic breathing Haldir opened his eyes to gaze upon that beauteous face once more. Melpomaen looked at him nervously and now that Haldir had recovered, the scribe touched a finger to the warrior's cheek, wiping away the tearstains.

"I did not hurt you did I, maethoren? I did please you?"

The voice was so hesitant that Haldir could do nothing but gather Melpomaen to his chest and plant many tender kisses upon that dark hair. He felt the worry subside within his little scribe.

"You did not hurt me, pen vain," he murmured against the silken strands. "You have released me in a way that you could not possibly understand. I never thought - I never dreamt - that I could be so close to an ellon. That I could find such happiness with you." He lifted his head to look once more at the elf who owned his heart. "This is a huge step for me, ' Maen. I know rationally that there is more, much more that could be achieved. Please have patience with me, my love. Can you do that? Can you wait for me?"

Melpomaen nodded, knowing that he could not understand yet the extent of the restrictions that kept his love bound so tight. However he could not let this moment by without placing his own needs to the fore.

"I can wait, Haldir, but with one proviso - we *must* talk. You must trust me, you must trust that I will not hurt you - not like Thalaglar."

Haldir froze, not expecting that name to fall from Melpomaen's lips. He had said that name for the first time in two millennia only the night before - and now his beloved spoke it back to him. Ai, but his love was so perceptive!

"It was of him that you spoke before, was it not Haldir? He was that first love that ended so badly for you. The disastrous love affair. I am not him, melethron. I am your ' Maen."

The revelations were coming fast and thick. Melpomaen now knew more than any other person alive of the source of his problems and Haldir was both relieved and terrified. As a secret it had been possible to hide it in the depths of his memory and to never admit his terrible judgement. Now it was as raw meat brought into the light - bloody, bruised and it had to be dealt with. Gods, that he could just throw the offending 'meat' away like the rotting offal it was. Stinking, its stench pervaded his mind as strongly as it inhibited his body. What to say? What to do? Even as Melpomaen asked for his trust, the millennia of distrust and his festering self-hatred came to the fore, tempering his response.

"Yes, it was Thalaglar. It - it happened when we were very young. I thought that is was - real - and true but ... our parents did not approve."

Melpomaen looked confused.

"But had you not passed your Majority? Were you not both adults?"

Haldir nodded. "Barely. The attraction started a long time before that and even then my father discouraged it. He claimed that he did so for my own good. Then afterwards - Thalaglar's parents moved back to Greenwood and Thal had to go with them. I never saw him again."

Melpomaen nodded in understanding and caressed his lover's hair, stroking and separating the un-brushed strands.

"I was not so misfortunate as you, meleth n ín. My first affair in love was not until well into my Awakening and then I had enlightened parents. Even so, there was no true love but only lustful bedding. No one snatched at my heart. No one captured it until you, my darling warrior."

The chocolate brown eyes looked at Haldir with such love and innocence that the Silvan elf's heart strained to contain the reciprocated feeling. Melpomaen was so open, so honest in his love that Haldir near wept at his duplicity. For it was in that moment that he was struck by the spotless honour of the Imladris elf.

The honour of an elf was at the centre of his being, for without honour the soul became dark and spoiled, and true love became twisted. The sorrowful tale of Eöl and his warped love for Aredhel; Maeglin and his forbidden lust for Idril - these were both examples of the perversion of love. Through dishonest desire their honour had been besmirched and their deeds were now forever vilified. With a falling heart Haldir knew that he was in danger of joining that loathsome company in his abrogation of his oath. How could he contemplate dragging this innocent ellon down with him? What was he to do? He could not now confess to Melpomaen, for his little love would be heartbroken. Was he truly being selfish in wanting to hold onto happiness while he may? Haldir thought back to Galadriel's offer and regretted that he should have refused her aid.

"Haldir? Haldir!"

The Marchwarden was jolted from his dire contemplations by frantic shaking and the anxiety in Melpomaen's voice. Focussing once more he registered that the scribe was leaning over him, his concern and fright clearly evident in the tension in his lean frame.

"Ai Haldir, please tell me what it is that tears you apart like this? I need to know that this is not a dream. I need to know that you love me as I love you. That you love me forever."

Forever. Eternity. That prize so elusive for Men, so damning upon the wearied souls of elves. Joyous where there is love and peace and unity; hateful and soul-destroying in the anguish of forbidden love. Oh yes, he would love Melpomaen for eternity. And that was the length of time that the little scribe would hate him for his lies and his deceptions.

Such longing there was in that gentle voice that Haldir pulled his little love into his arms, holding him tight in his need to imprint this moment onto his memory. He took in the scent of pine and valley in the warm brown hair, and the velvet touch of bare skin, and the elegant curves of the slim body. And he wept once more, his stumbling words aching with expected loss.

"I love you, Melpomaen. I love you forever, and now I know that soon I will lose you, and I know that you will hate me... May Manwë forgive me, for I am foresworn and I do not know what to do..."

And not all of the healing comfort or the copious words of consolation and reassurance that were poured onto him could assuage the tears of anguish, nor the depth of mourning tears that Haldir shed in the memory of a Galadhel's long-lost innocence. And the foreseen knowledge of the breaking of a young scribe's heart.

 

****

 

Haldir's stride was more confident as he walked towards the Royal Talan and a renewal of hope. After the heart-rending self doubt of that morning Haldir had made a decision to take back control of his life, a control that he had maintained through two thousand years. The semblance of the cool, arrogant Marchwarden had been shattered by the arrival of the Scribe of Imladris. Haldir's life had changed beyond belief in the space of less than two months and his emotions scattered to both extremes of the scale. Now was the time to re-forge his future.

He had left Melpomaen as Caras Galadhon began to stir, knowing that his love's concern was soul-deep. Haldir's thoughts had been in a whirl, but after his short walk to his talan and his bathing and dressing for the day ahead, he had come to a decision which now brought him to his Lady.

Haldir had no trouble gaining access to the Royal Talan, for his position as Marchwarden placed him on a par or higher than many of the councillors to Lothlórien's rulers. Haldir was proud of the position he had earned, proud of his honorific title of 'Lord Haldir' and very proud of the work he had done in the service of Celeborn and Galadriel. Sinda, Noldo, Silvan - they three had always sought to fight the darkness and to give the elves of the Golden Wood a home free of terror and tyranny. Now Haldir was facing his own terror and he hoped that the Lady would be able to free him from its tyrannical hold upon his life.

There was little delay in admitting the Marchwarden to the Lady's presence and in minutes he stood in one of the smaller reception rooms, making his bow with hand over heart to Galadriel. The golden lady rose and came to greet him cordially.

"I know why you have come, dearest Haldir - but to demonstrate the depths of your wishes in this matter you must ask formally for my aid."

The words were soft but direct and Haldir bowed his head in understanding.

"Lady Galadriel, I am in love with Melpomaen of Imladris and would take him as my bereth. We are soulmates and my very being cries out for him. However I am bound by an oath sworn in absentia to my father, and bound by a fear of physical intimacy with a male. I therefore most humbly beg your assistance, for I seek release from my oath and a cure for my fears."

The words were difficult to say, initially catching in his throat as he finally revealed the hidden scars of over two millennia. By the end of his plea however he felt as if a great weight had lifted from his shoulders just by vocalising the source of his turmoil. Involuntarily he began to tremble.

Galadriel gathered her Marchwarden into her arms, soothing the shaking elf. 

" Celeborn and I have waited long for this moment, for this opportunity to help our most faithful servant." She pulled back from the embrace, still holding gently to his arms. "My lord's words were true to his need for your skills when he ordered your retention in Caras Galadhon - but he also understood your reservations. He advised you to come to me, did he not? My lord is not cruel and he holds the same love for you that I do, Haldir Celegonion."

Her eyes twinkled as the full meaning of her words became clear to the warrior, and Haldir winced when he remembered the perceived 'tongue-lashing' he had received from Lord Celeborn. He now wondered at the machinations of the Sinda and the warden felt great gratitude for the Prince of Doriath.

"So what must I do, my lady? Shall I come to your grove, to view the mirror?"

Galadriel shook her head, her golden tresses waving gently with the movement. She looked at him with a warning in her eyes.

"No. The ceremony will take place in the grove, but the mirror will only externalise your visions and cannot be controlled to the necessary degree of accuracy. Your problems in the present arose in your past, and you must relive your memories afresh to see the truth within them."

The unease that flashed in Haldir's blue eyes was very evident and she laid a soothing hand upon him.

"You will *not* be alone, mellon n ín! I will be with you as you enter the trance, and one other. The adult members of your family must assemble also, to give of their strength and support to you as you walk the path of the past. From within your family or without, you must choose your Seer, a person whom you can trust to see what you see - and perhaps that which you do not or will not. He or she must help you to interpret your visions and delineate the truth from the falsehoods that were devised by a frightened child to hide those that hurt the most. Choose well Haldir, for this will be your moment of truth."

Haldir thought upon his family - Orophin, so vocal and enthusiastic in his affections; R úmil who had mourned his solitary state; Meluiwen who was calm, gentle and wise; and at the last - 

" Doron," he said firmly. "I choose Doron. He is a scholar and is trained to see meaning in the most obscure texts. He will see what I cannot. He is also an ellon who loves an ellon, and he will understand the cause of my conflicts. I would not subject my brothers or my sister to the more - damaging - of my actions in the past. So I choose Doron."

Galadriel nodded, obviously in agreement with his words. "Your choice is wise, Haldir. You must speak to your family now and ask for Doron's agreement to his participation in this ceremony. Three nights hence we will assemble in my glade in the early evening to undertake the Dreamwalking. You and Doron must fast on that day in preparation for the ritual."

"And Melpomaen?" Haldir asked hesitantly. Galadriel shook her head once more.

"He should not come that night, if that is what you are asking. As to what to tell him, if anything, I leave that up to you." Galadriel gave one of her most brilliant smiles. "I have great hope for you, Haldir. I feel the pull on your souls and I know that the love between you is meant to be."

A final farewell and a happier, yet still apprehensive, Marchwarden left the Royal Talan to return to his duties - and smile happily upon his ' Maen once more.

 

****

 

Haldir lifted his head from the notes before him to gaze lovingly at the scribe he adored. Melpomaen seemed to sense this attention and turned to reciprocate the adoration with a blush and a shy smile, then glanced at the unseeing group of librarians about them before returning to his task.

Haldir hugged the loving smile within his heart as he tried to pay attention to the text dancing before his eyes. It was now the third day since his meeting with Galadriel and tonight would see his descent into his memories in an attempt to free himself of the bondage of the past. Glancing briefly at Doron he felt a wave of gratitude for his brother-in-law who had immediately acceded to his request for companionship upon this most miraculous journey.

"For sure I will act as your companion, Haldir," the librarian had said upon receipt of the request. "I love you both and will do whatever is necessary to see your happy union with Melpomaen."

The reaction of his brothers and Meluiwen had been mixed for they had had no idea or knowledge that Haldir's past had been so difficult.

"Of course we will attend," Orophin had said with concern. "I would have stood as your Seer had you wished it."

Haldir had responded in the negative, saying to his brothers, "There may be - revelations - concerning our parents, and acts of a disturbing nature that I would not have you witness. Doron is trained to look at things objectively. I know that he will perform his part admirably."

The last few days had also served to increase his happiness in his relationship with Melpomaen. He had spent the nights with his little ' Maen, showing his pleasure and repeating those acts of love that had brought him to tears during that early morning tryst. As fulfilling as the ecstatic climaxes were, it was the intense glow of the aftermath and the feel of the slight ellon within the circle of his muscular arms that brought Haldir the greatest joy. He had not told Melpomaen anything of the events of tonight, save for the necessity of the forthcoming meeting with the Lady. He mourned the obligatory separation nevertheless.

In all, his life now seemed to be progressing, with the promise of a much brighter future after this night. His good cheer brought him to others' attention and only a warning glance from Doron reduced his exuberance. 

He was deep in discussion with Glorfindel over details of the battle of Dagorlad when the door to the room burst open, and Haldir was shocked to see a battle-stained Galadhel from the Northern Patrol. The wild-eyed warrior spotted him across the room and blurted out his message in frantic tones.

"My Lord Haldir! You must come with all haste to Lord Celeborn, for I bring evil news from the Northern Fences. Disaster has struck, my Lord! The Golden Wood is invaded by orcs!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:
> 
> ind n ín - my heart  
> meleth - love  
> maethoren - my warrior  
> pen vain - beautiful one   
> ellon - male elf  
> melethron - lover (m)  
> meleth n ín - my love  
> bereth - spouse.  
> mellon nín - my friend


	9. Chapter 9

The response was immediate. Clerks dodged swiftly out of the way as Haldir and Glorfindel leapt from their seats, leaving the chairs to crash upon the floor as they vaulted the tables to make their urgent exit from the room. The steps were as nothing as they shot down the stairwell and flung themselves out the door.

The distance to the Royal Talan was short but each footfall, each pounding stride seemed as a mile in Haldir's mind. That the injured warrior had used such a word as 'disaster' boded an evil that he could scarce believe, save that Haldir had trained the Galadhel personally and knew him to be a sound and strong soldier. His thoughts focused on his counterpart, Berenon, who was Commander of the Northern patrol on this month's watch. Each of the four borders had a Marchwarden and his Commander, the two officers leading the patrols alternatively. The Commanders were senior wardens and answered first to their own Marchwarden, then to Haldir as overall leader of the Galadhrim. Always there were two full Marchwardens on patrol per month, with two commanders of the other borders. Haldir had the greatest faith in Berenon and if his wardens had been bested then the incursion must have been overwhelming.

None stood in his way as he burst into Lord Celeborn's council chamber, Glorfindel but a step behind him. The room was full of councilors and senior wardens, including Orophin, but Haldir directed his attention to Celeborn alone.

"What news, my lord?" he cried in his urgent need. Celeborn looked at him and Haldir's heart leapt into his throat at the haunted look on the Sinda's face. Celeborn's words confirmed the Marchwarden's fears.

"The worst, Marchwarden. A cohort of at least six hundred yrch attacked the Northwest edge of the boundaries of Lothlórien under the cover of darkness, inflicting heavy losses on our patrols there. Commander Berenon is dead, as are at least a quarter of the patrol. In addition they have suffered heavy casualties. There is a lack of information as to the intent of the incursion. Sauron would not commit such a large force without a specific design."

Celeborn looked at Haldir meaningfully but the Marchwarden of the Galadhrim of Lothlórien knew his task well enough. Knowing that the eyes of all were upon him, he turned to one of the junior wardens who attended upon the Royal Talan and issued his orders.

"Muster the Galadhrim. They are to assemble at the North Gate within the hour, ready for war. We march at that time."

Even as the young warrior ran to sound the alarm Haldir turned back to the war council. He would need as much information as possible to prepare to repel the enemy - and to plan for punitive action. Celeborn began to elaborate upon the scant news he had extracted from the northern Galadhel, pointing to the maps spread out on the large council table. The gathered councilors leaned forward, their cream robes contrasting softly with the home-spun grey of the warriors who jostled for equal space.

"The attack began after the midnight hour, with penetration here, here and here."

Haldir followed the indicating finger, noting with regret that the leader of the orc host had showed an unusual intelligence above that which they normally saw. Those were areas where the patrol would be weak at that time. Even though the Marchwardens shifted the routes of the patrols so that no distinct pattern ought to be detected, someone in the enemy camp had done just that. The attack had been timed so that Berenon's men were elsewhere upon the border.

"Messages were sent to both west and east, and reinforcements have probably now arrived," Celeborn continued. He looked at Haldir again. The fair-haired warrior nodded.

"A quarter of the muster will be sent to fill those vacated posts, another quarter to set a loose perimeter around Caras Galadhon along with the City Guard. They will therefore also be available for relief, depending on the length of the conflict. The remainder will come with me to the Northern Fences."

"And a replacement for Berenon?"

"The lieutenant, Sarnon, is excellent and I will give him Orophin too, in case he has taken some injury." Orophin nodded in passing as Haldir turned to Glorfindel. "I know that you are a warrior beyond reproach, my lord, but my men need someone they know and trust. I would rather have you at the front of the battle with me, if you will. The renown of the Balrog Slayer is enough to strike fear into the stoutest heart - not that the orc-spawn could claim such."

Glorfindel understood his counterpart only too well, and clapped his large hand firmly upon Haldir's shoulder. "My sword is yours, mellon nín. Im lín cauno."

"And I stand too, Haldir."

There was no argument from the Marchwarden as he turned to face his Lord. This was Celeborn of Doriath, of Lindon and Evendim; of Eregion and now of Lothlórien. Celeborn, Lord and Prince, dweller of many realms was a warrior at heart, an expert with sword and bow and no stranger to warfare. Celeborn had stood shoulder to shoulder with King Amdir's men of Lothlórien - with Haldir's father - on the Plain of Morannon. He led his men from the front, as he would now.

The Marchwarden turned to the councilors around the table. "Provisions will be required, my lords. I will leave the necessary orders in your capable hands." He turned to face his officers, seeing the determination on their faces and the pride on Orophin's.

"Warriors of the Galadhrim - to arms!"

 

****

 

The passage of time was swift and to Haldir it was as if bare moments had passed. He had returned to his talan to change into his grey uniform, donning for the first time in many years his red cloak of war. It was a risk for it made him more of a target for orc arrows, but it also gave him an identity amongst the dark and concealing greys of the Galadhrim, when his men needed him the most. It also meant that runners could find him easily in times of urgency. Buckling on his fine-honed sword and strapping a bulging quiver to his back, Haldir took one last look around his talan for a final check before lifting his bow. A sense of disorientation came over him, for it was as if he had experienced this moment before, until he realised that this was the way he had seen his father for the last time, in this very room. Girded and buckled, ready for war, making his final checks, saying his parting farewells. He shivered at the memory, then said a silent prayer for strength to his father.

As he turned his eyes fell regretfully upon the open door to his room, and the lavishly covered bed. The postponement of tonight's ceremony was a given and although he longed to complete his union with his beautiful 'Maen it was not love that sang in his veins right now but bloodlust, crying out for revenge against the murderers of his kin; his commander, his warriors. Quickly, with the precision delineating him as a soldier, he turned from the silken sheets of the enticing bed and exited the talan to join the avenging army.

The muster was complete and Haldir nodded in approval as he saw that his wardens and commanders had executed his orders, for the perimeter guards had already departed, as had the reinforcements for the other borders. The Galadhrim in front of him were now at attention, the epitome of a well-trained, finely disciplined fighting force. The edges of the yard surrounding the inner gates were filled with the warriors' families and friends, come to make their farewells to their loved ones. Out of the corner of his eyes amongst the light-coloured robes of the Silvan elves he saw the rich reds of Imladris and the pale face of Melpomaen flanked by Doron and Meluiwen. His little scribe had fixed his chocolate-brown eyes firmly upon the solid figure of Haldir, and anxiety shone forth, echoed by the wringing of the tiny hands. Haldir felt his heart wrench when he saw this but duty bound him and he could do nor say naught. Looking to his law-sister he saw that she cradled a tired and confused Tólaes in her arms, and Alagion - ah, his eyes moistened to see his nephew stand proudly saluting his father in the ranks, carrying his own small bow in his hand.

Haldir finally gave in to temptation and turned now fully to capture the gaze of his lovely scribe. He smiled, and it was a smile of love and reassurance and promise. The dark elf took strength from this and the smile that was returned spoke of reciprocated love and trust.

The only elleth to approach the awaiting warriors was the Lady of Lothlórien, who gave a final formal embrace to her lord before raising her hand to lay her blessing upon the troops before her. As Haldir bowed his head he felt a familiar warm tingle sweep across his body and he knew that within that blessing there was magic and power to protect and strengthen them for the days ahead. Haldir took one glance at Glorfindel, resplendent at the head of a cohort in his light armour, then he turned and bowed to his lord. Celeborn nodded.

"Marchwarden, lead our troops to victory!"

That was his signal. His strong voice echoed in the stillness of withheld breaths and stifled sobs.

"Galadhrim - move out!"

And the Galadhrim of Lothlórien marched to war.

 

****

 

Haldir felt rather than heard the conflict ahead, despite the clarity of his elven hearing. The Lórien force had moved swiftly and frequent runners to and from the valiant patrols brought news of both gains and losses in the continuing fight. These orcs had maintained their pressure on the elven warriors, a change to their usual tactics. Haldir felt that this behaviour had to be due to the size of the attacking forces, causing an increase in the confidence of the back-blooded minions of Morgoth.

"There are reports of splinter groups breaking off from the packs, delving into the copses and thickets of the outer forest," Haldir said in conference with the other two lords during a break in their advance. They crouched upon the forest floor, leaning against fallen trunks of ancient trees, gaining rest that they had not had for many days in their drive to reach the forest edge and their foes. "Normally the orcs would be picked off by the archers but our forces are spread so thin that they are breaking through."

"And what of their burden? The bags that they are reportedly carrying into the Golden Wood?" asked Celeborn anxiously. Haldir shook his head.

"I do not know, my lord. The messages we have received state that the sacks obtained from the orcs that they have killed contain dark spherical objects, organic for certain. They exude some substance that can burn the skin of the palm if touched, so I have ordered that gloves must be used if handling them. All captured sacks have been quarantined pending investigation. A sample is being brought to us as we speak."

Glorfindel looked puzzled and aggravated. "Damn!" he exploded in frustration. "The hairs on my neck are prickling. Even as you spoke of them I felt their evil intent and a flash of recognition as to their description. I simply cannot remember why."

Haldir shrugged in resignation, his silver-blue eyes meeting Glorfindel's sapphire blue in understanding.

"I too, my friend. My skin is veritably crawling. This is bad, my Lord." He turned once again to Celeborn. "Very bad."

Celeborn nodded, his eyes shining with a dark light not often seen in the silver lord.

"We will prevail, Haldir. I have fought the Darkness for too long to allow Him a foothold into *my* realm. I will not suffer Laurelindlórenan to become another Taur-nu-Fuin!"

The depth of rage in the Sinda's voice caught in the other warriors' hearts and they too knew that if necessary they would make the journey to Mandos' Halls before allowing that to happen. Glorfindel cleared his throat.

"Celeborn, a question if I may? How can the orc army penetrate into Lothlórien this way? I thought that Galadriel's power kept all evil out of the Golden Wood?"

The silver mane shimmered as the ancient lord shook his head.

"The range of Nenya is finite, centered on wherever Galadriel is and extends to the edge of the woods. In reality the Celebrant, the Anduin and the exit to Moria define its area of protection. More than that is draining on her life force. That is why we rarely travel, my friend. To leave behind our home Galadriel must place layer upon layer of spells upon the wood and upon Haldir here. It is simpler to stay." He looked around at the silver birch and slim poplar, shining in the innocuous sunshine - belying the evil invading the stand of woods. "The sheer physical scale of this attack is beyond the scope of supernatural protection. What can befuddle one orc mind to the point of insanity is as but a light brush against brutish sensibilities when facing such numbers. The sword and the bow are our protection now."

The ire building within the Marchwarden could be contained no longer. He leapt to his feet.

"I have whispered the prayers of the dead too many times in the last few days. Let us make an end of them!"

Celeborn grinned, an almost feral grimace as he recognised and concurred with his Commander of the Lórien forces. He stood too and clasped Haldir's arms in a warrior's greeting, and the Balrog Slayer added his strong hands to the convocation. His grin became positively feral as he faced his two long-time friends.

"My lords - it is time to go hunt some orcs!"

 

****

 

Haldir wiped his brow wearily, unaware of the black smear of orc blood that now lay upon his forehead as a result. The Marchwarden surveyed the scene with great sadness as he saw red-stained grey amongst the grotesque forms piled high in death. He called to one of the nearby wardens.

"Mellon nín, let us be more vigilant in the removal of evil from this land. Please, have a care to separate our fallen brothers and sisters who have passed into Námo's arms, so that their bodily remnants are given the due respect and honour they deserve."

The warden nodded in understanding and regret and soon the fallen warriors were separated from the carcasses of the foe, and were arrayed in honour under the pale green foliage of the birch trees in a nearby copse. In the distance of his thoughts Haldir was caught unawares, and stiffened as strong arms came around his body from the rear, a chin resting on his shoulder. He calmed when he heard the deep tones of the Balrog Slayer.

"My condolences to you, my dearest Haldir. They fought well. *You* fought well." Glorfindel pulled back and turned the Marchwarden in his arms, looking down into the silver blue eyes from his considerable height. Haldir was not small but Glorfindel of Gondolin had been blessed with a stature beyond that of a normal edhel. The golden lord smiled.

"Melpomaen would be very proud could he see you today. *I* am very proud, and my heart will burst with joy on the day I can call you 'ion nín'!"

The words lightened Haldir's heart as he lifted an arm to clasp Glorfindel's - but he could not resist a smirk when he responded to the praise.

"I thank you for the words, old friend - but do not think that I will *ever* call you 'Ada'!"

Glorfindel laughed, a great shout that brought attention to the two legendary warriors, and he clapped his hand to Haldir's shoulder.

"Manwë forbid, dear Haldir. But come," he sobered, "Celeborn has received samples of the orc-sacks and has asked us to help identify this evil."

The friends made their way over to the silver lord who stood with two of the Galadhrim, a large hessian-weave sack on the ground between them. As they reached him, one of the Galadhel lifted the sack with gauntlet-protected hands, tipping the contents onto the grass. Glorfindel groaned and Haldir hissed in recognition of the objects, the recognition arising from his travels to Thranduil's realm.

"Ungol-spawn!" he growled. He turned to the warriors standing guard. "We need to soak these in alcohol and set them alight. Send word to the other groups to do the same."

Celeborn was horrified. "Ungol? Spiders? Here, in the Golden Wood?"

Haldir nodded. "Aye, my lord. It is obvious now what the Dark Lord's plan was - to infect Lothlórien with the same evil that has taken over the Greenwood. Unless we root out and burn them, these eggs will hatch and breed."

The Sinda's eyes burned in fury and the lord grasped Glorfindel's arm. "Lend me your strength, meldir," he said as his eyes glazed over into waking reverie. Haldir waited patiently for he knew the 'signs of farspeech. A moment later the spiders' eggs were ash as fire spontaneously combusted within the sticky mass. Celeborn sagged as he focused once more. He smiled wryly as his friends looked at him with concern.

"Galadriel is as disgusted as I am, my lords, and that was but a small demonstration of the extent of her disgust. She will not be able to repeat that act, but know that she now has the psychic imprint of the eggs. She will be able to look for and inform us of any caches undetected by our troops. Proceed with your actions, Haldir. We will rid this realm of these evil creatures and cleanse ourselves of this filth." The silver-haired lord looked around the devastated battleground wearily. "And we will mourn."

Haldir nodded and proceeded as he had been instructed. Even now that they knew the reason for the invasion, there would still be much work to do. He thought of his little 'Maen and he knew that he would not be seeing him anytime soon. As he prepared himself for the long campaign, Haldir brought to mind the dark velvet hair, chocolate-brown eyes and sweet pouting lips of his lover.

"Melin le, 'Maen."

And as a whisper on the wind there came a touch upon his cheek as if it had been brushed by a butterfly's wing and the essence of love poured through him from a distance…

'… I love you too, my Haldir…'


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WARNING* - THERE ARE VIVID MEMORIES OF RAPE AND PAIN IN THIS CHAPTER, AND ACTUAL SCENES OF VIOLENCE - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!
> 
> Please do not read if this upsets you - Sorry people…
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO: There will be flashback sequences later in the chapter. The words in //'…..'// are heard in Haldir's mind alone, although they may seem real to him. Hold on for the pain, folks…

Haldir dragged himself out of the sunken bath, his slow movements revealing the bone-aching exhaustion that he felt, and his extreme reluctance to leave the comforting heat of the herb-laced water. An elf, so the humans apparently believed, was a picture of elegance, purity and light at all times to whom no speck of dirt would dare attach itself. Haldir snorted at the ridiculous thought as he looked down at the sludgy brown water he had just left, effluent evidence of the past three weeks. The honest dirt of the forest, the accumulated sweat (for elves *did* perspire, albeit elegantly) and the overlying layers of black orc-blood all had had to be removed. At this last Haldir winced and he glanced into his bedchamber at the wrapped bundle on the bed. His red cloak would have to go to the laundresses who, by the tender treatment of their gentle hands and the skilful magic that their fingers held, would relieve it of the fibre-deep ichor; his grey uniform had already been consigned to the flames. He could never have worn it again - not with the dread memories it held within its threads and seams. Memories of pain and loss, and of an evil and sad time.

A wave of heart-breaking sadness swept over Haldir and he passed his hand over weary eyes, eyes that had seen too many the deaths of his warriors, his comrades. His friends. Of Berenon, whom he had trusted so many times with his life. Of Sarnon, who had finally succumbed to his injuries. He thought back to his brother's promotion on the battlefield, and the pride that had mingled with the sorrow. Orophin was now his Commander and thus they would now be on counter-watches, although Orophin had intimated that the promotion was not entirely to his taste. In retrospect Haldir could sympathise with him for it would mean that Orophin would hardly ever see his brothers due to the timings of the watches. However, that was a problem to be addressed in the future for he had need of the skill and experience of Orophin where he was now, overseeing the patrols. Rúmil had taken Orophin's post as lieutenant and was even now assisting his older brother.

Now Haldir's Lord awaited his report. Pulling a clean uniform from his closet Haldir dressed quickly then exited his home and made his way to the Royal Talan.

Although he knew where his footsteps should lead him Haldir felt his heart tug as he passed the path that led to the guest quarters. Oh, how he longed to run along that path, to run to his 'Maen - to hold him and kiss him in need and love. How he longed to lose the vile memories of the past three weeks in the enfolding embrace of the little dark-haired scribe. He had reached out for Melpomaen in his disturbed reverie, those snatched moments between fierce fighting and the stench of the death pyres. He sighed, and his feet took him on his assigned path once more. Glorfindel had returned from the front with him and had been entrusted to tell his gentle love of the duties that must separate them for yet a few more hours. The seneschal of Imladris was to attend this briefing too, so Haldir knew that Melpomaen would understand the necessity to wait.

'Oh my 'Maen,' he whispered in his mind. The response came, a ghostly yet comforting embrace to the tired warrior.

'Yes, yours…always yours…'

Haldir hugged the words to himself, knowing truly that Melpomaen understood the reasons that the Marchwarden had to delay their surely ecstatic reunion. It would be all the happier in the end.

Celeborn was waiting with his councillors in the large war chamber, and Haldir nodded and smiled to Glorfindel who had arrived before him. The seneschal clasped his fellow warrior's shoulder in greeting, and a knowing smile shone between them - and a hint of pine valley freshness as the spirit of Melpomaen's hug to his adar now transferred to his lover. Celeborn in turn looked up to greet his Marchwarden. The Lord of Lothlórien had spent a ten-day on the Northern Fences before returning to Caras Galadhon to continue to coordinate and process the information they had gained. Now he reiterated the priorities of the realm.

"The last of the sacks of eggs have been discovered and destroyed," he said firmly. "The Lady has confirmed that there are no more to be found in the Golden Wood. Similarly, Lord Haldir and his troops have rooted out and dispatched the remaining yrch. The Golden Wood is cleansed."

Haldir bowed his head in acknowledgment of the recognition his men had gained in their diligence. Celeborn continued.

"King Thranduil of the Greenwood has been apprised of the details of this attack and has undertaken to launch a punitive action on behalf of Lothlórien. As much as the Galadhrim wish to seek their own revenge, we must be aware of our losses and not waste our diminished resources."

One of the senior councillors raised his head in query, and Celeborn acknowledged his request to speak with a nod.

"My lords - to what purpose did the Dark Lord send such a force? To infest Lothlórien for certain, aye - but by attacking in such numbers they drew attention that did not serve them well. They lost all stealth and hope of eluding our wardens by their open warfare, and their lives. I mean - they were bound to be discovered!"

Haldir's face turned white, bleak in remembrance of the relevant discussions he and his lords had held in the field. They had discerned the Dark Lord's plan.

"As fodder, my lord. We," he gestured to Celeborn and Glorfindel, "believe that the yrch were sent to be slaughtered, so that when the spiders hatched there would be fresh meat on which they could feast. The Enemy knows of our prowess in war, and probably believed that not enough Galadhrim would be killed to sustain the newborn hatchlings. The orcs were sacrificed. They were sent to die."

There was a collective shudder and the councillor blanched at this explanation, the sickened disgust an innate rejection of the hollow price placed by the Dark One upon life - any life. From the appalled sadness upon Celeborn and Glorfindel's faces Haldir knew that these lords, born nigh the beginnings of the Ages, were thinking of those first elves who had been captured, taken and tortured into the black twisted monsters they now faced as their foes. Had they known any of the Lost Ones personally? Did their memories apply the face of a loved one to those tortuous creations of Morgoth? Haldir mourned for the evil of the fallen Vala and for the lost possibilities of the joyous life Elvenkind could have had with their Secondborn brethren if Melkor's corruption had not existed. If life had evolved as Eru was believed to have intended.

The shadowed moment passed and Celeborn straightened his shoulders, addressing the gathering once more.

"Although messengers have already been sent to Imladris and Mirkwood, we are nearing the time when Lord Glorfindel was due to return over the Misty Mountains anyway. Final accounts of this incursion must be ready for dispatch within the week along with the first three months of research by our archivists. Some of the Imladris historians will return home too, though some few will stay."

Haldir felt his heart lighten when both his lord and his friend smiled warmly at him. He knew that his little Melpomaen had chosen to stay in Lothlórien with him. In his overwrought state all he longed to do was to fall into his bed, holding his 'Maen's lissom body against him. He knew that other events might conspire against him though, for who knew what duties his lord might lay upon him?

"Haldir, when do you return to the Fences?"

As he did now.

"I thought to return on the morrow, my lord. I wished to obtain more supplies for the Galadhrim, to fill orders which I have already placed with the quartermasters."

Celeborn nodded. "Very well, Marchwarden - and take some rest. You are needed, healed and whole, by all of us."

Haldir bowed, thankful for his lord's discerning eye and the confirmation of his orders. Although elves could exist for sometime without rest, once past that limit then swift recuperation was vital for both the body and the spirit. His body craved rest, and he knew that he would have to answer. He had to smirk though when they descended from the council chamber to see the young elf who awaited them at the foot of the stairs, and Glorfindel bent his head to whisper to him.

"Much sleep *you* will get, mellon nín, for see who awaits you!"

The grin on his face and the wide embrace of his arms told a tale complete as the limbs were filled by the willowy figure of Melpomaen, extravagant kisses and soft sobs speaking volumes of the torment of separation and fear. Glorfindel dropped a kiss onto his son's head in farewell.

"Let him sleep, Mel. He is weary nigh unto death."

Melpomaen nodded, hearing the words but not daring to speak whilst so emotionally overwrought. Haldir's broad hand softly stroked the auburn-tinted mane, luxuriating in its softness as he spoke soothing words.

"I am safe, meleth nín. I am safe and well."

Melpomaen finally lifted his head from the tear-soaked chest, dashing the remaining dampness from his eyes.

"And you are come home to me, even for a short time," he snuffled softly. "And I will look after you, my darling Haldir." He blinked quickly, his chocolate-brown eyes seemingly huge as they shone with remnants of glistening tears, the longing so innocently apparent in their pool-like depths. "Come - come home to my talan, my love, my lord. I have asked for food and good wine to be sent there so that we can eat and talk before you rest."

Melpomaen wrapped his slender arms about Haldir's broad waist, inserting himself close to his lover's side as the warrior laid his arm lightly across the young scribe's shoulders. Haldir revelled in the closeness of the moment, kissing Melpomaen lightly upon his dark head and wishing fervently that he need never leave him again.

"I wish that I could have been with you, Haldir," Melpomaen said gently as they walked. "I missed you so, and I only want to comfort and heal you from your hurts."

Haldir gently squeezed him, thanking him for his loving sentiments.

"To know that you were safe here was all the comfort that I needed, ind nín. And I felt you at the quiet times. I felt you touch my mind and lend me your strength. It was much needed, my sweet one." He placed a finger under that pointed chin and lifted the oval face to look at him. "However, Glorfindel and I had much time to talk, meleth, and it seems my 'Maen is an edhel of many facets! He told me that during your encounter with the orc band on the High Pass that you took down two of your assailants before succumbing to your injury. I am impressed, my love! Scribe, tactician, archivist, warrior - is there no end to your talents, sweet 'Maen?"

Melpomaen laughed merrily as they arrived at the base of the guest mallorn. He lifted his lips to Haldir's and smiled.

"Ai! Well, be thankful that someone else has prepared our luncheon, Haldir, else your stomach would reject the poisons that my cooking brings forth. My adar Erestor says that I am the only person that he knows that can burn a pot of water! And," he looked ruefully up at the seemingly endless stairs, "I am still no Wood Elf, for I hate climbing so many steps…"

The hint was not there for Melpomaen appreciated the tiredness that Haldir was feeling. Nor did he expect his Marchwarden to exhibit such informality whilst in his warrior uniform but, despite his weariness, Haldir laughed and took up the challenge, sweeping the protesting elf off his feet.

The climb may have been a long one but by the end of it neither elf was in any state to protest about the distance. Three weeks of enforced separation, fear and grief had taken their toll and the two edhil where entwined in each other's lustful arms. The prepared repast arrayed on the table was totally ignored, as the flesh demanded that its expectations be met. Clothing was unbuttoned, released, unfastened, torn from body, discarded, removed and disposed of in a haphazard trail across the talan floor. Fervent lips reacquainted themselves with salty skin and eager hands clawed eager flesh.

Haldir revelled in the close and sweet touches of his 'Maen and as he ravaged the pouting mouth he knew that he was attempting to lose himself in his little love - that he needed to block away those weeks of soul-darkening heartache. Every cry he wrung from the gentle scribe covers a cry of pain from an injured warden; every breath of delight tempered the dying breath of a warrior. The sweet scent of pine and valley smothered in his mind the reek of days-old carcasses. His fingers tangled in Melpomaen's hair, his palm pressed against the small of slender back causing their arousals to clash in a hunger-driven duel.

"Take me, Haldir! Take me, love me - fill me! I need you in me, ind nín, fëa nín!"

Melpomaen writhed and thrashed beneath him as he pleaded for Haldir's love, and in his drained and emotional state Haldir could form no coherent declaration of why he could not claim his love's eager body. Instead he took them both in hand, his calloused digits gripping swollen shafts and he firmly stroked as he thrust forcefully against his lover's soft belly.

"Not yet," he panted against the sensitive ear. "I do not want it that way yet. I would give you all that I am, my beloved 'Maen. I will give myself to you…"

In his driven lust not all the words escaped his clenched teeth, nor could the scribe discern the true meaning of them. Melpomaen only knew that he needed to be completed by his Haldir, and that it fell to him to initiate this next step in their union - and now Haldir had spoken his desire to be taken by his 'Maen. Thus in their pounding climaxes - hot seed spilling from sweet slits over taut fingers - was the ground erroneously laid for their future coupling and completion. As the sensual bliss sparked every nerve and smothered all his pain, Haldir fell from ecstatic heights into the comforting embrace of his little elf, his mind releasing from its earthly bounds, soothed and hale. His reverie fell heavily upon him without pause or heed for whispered words of love.

Melpomaen shifted to ease himself in his curled posture around his strong, handsome, comforted Marchwarden, and he dreamed of claiming his love when they next awoke…

 

****

 

The tired mind needs rest but often an overtired mind finds escape in memories reincarnated as dreams, especially when memories are triggered by recent experiences alike to those of long-ago events. Dreams can tumble, twist and turn in their attempt to process the excess baggage of stressful days. Dreams seem real, and reality but a dream. Thus when Haldir felt a lapping tongue upon his quiescent member his drained senses initiated memories long buried. These hidden thoughts, locked away, denied, disdained and rejected had been stirred by words of an uncomprehending brother in the telling of a long-ago tale; the heavy locks upon their direness had been strained and lessened by those blithely spoken words, and the lover's voice he heard deepened into the melethron of two thousand years before.

"I love you, Haldir…"

 

//' Love you Haldir…'//

 

Haldir wriggled under the dedicated motions of that delicate muscle, the tongue that traced its way along the underside of his thickening shaft.

"Love you too…"

 

//'Love you too, Thal…'//

 

The lips sucked gently at the laden sacs at the base of Haldir's cock, the lips gently encasing them in turn in Melpomaen's hot, moist mouth, causing the Marchwarden to cry out in his erratic state of floating consciousness.

"Gods, yes! More, more…"

 

//'More, Thal - oh gods, please more…!'//

 

Melpomaen's lips curve in his delight at the response he was gaining from his love. Haldir had slept deep and long and it was only in the first stirrings of possible awakening that the scribe had determined upon this course. Now he pursued his actions, thrilled at the thought that he could deepen and advance the physical love they had so longed for. Perhaps now, after this long and fraught separation, Haldir was ready to admit him to his heart fully - and to his body also. Inhaling deeply in the silver-blonde curls framing the superbly thick shaft the slender elf took in the musky fragrance of his melethron, delirious in his own stimulated lust for this glorious elf. His elf. His lover.

Haldir's hands explored, grasping and twisting in the golden tresses of his first love, reliving that night when the gory excesses of ales and wines poured into them by their new comrades had opened their hearts and bodies to each other. Had confirmed Haldir's desire for his childhood friend, and of his mellon for him. No longer would he pay heed to the warnings of his father, cautionary tales of the supposed displeasure of Thalaglar's father. He wanted Thalaglar. He loved Thalaglar. Even as he thrust between the heated lips into his lover's moist cavern, so did the object of his desire call to him.

 

//'I love you, Haldir! Please, let me take you? I want to be in you. I need to have you, Hal!'//

 

Yes, he wanted Thal. He wanted to lose his innocence to the playmate, the companion of his Awakening. Thal would love him. Thal wanted him. He would be gentle; he would fill his body and his soul. They would be one forever…

"Take me, my love. Take me, claim me as your own!"

Melpomaen looked into the silver-blue eyes, and his own were dilated with lust and longing for unity with his soulmate. He saw what he believed to be *his* Haldir's need for him and he wept with joy at the love and trust he seemingly perceived there. He glanced at the bedside locker, seeing upon it the familiar bottle of sweet oil that he used to untangle his thick hair and which would now soothe and smooth their way in love. He reached for it, twisting the lid open to spill the oil upon his fingers. Reaching down he took the neglected shaft in hand once more, stroking it gently as Haldir loved him to do. His oiled fingers slid between the Marchwarden's thighs and in his attention to his task he did not notice a crease upon his beloved's forehead.

 

//'Thal? What do you do?'//

 

The inner voice was hoarse with need as fingers probed at his entrance, as they circled the tight opening, puckered in its virginal condition. Thalaglar looked down at him, his drunken bloodshot orbs darkened in his need for their joined bodies.

 

//'This is how we join, Hal! Look, I will ease our way…'//

 

The fingers that Haldir saw before him dripped in the only liquid available, the dregs of ale slops that had been poured down choking throats by the laughing wardens of their assigned patrol. Initiation rites were their passage into an adult world and they had participated in their desire to become respected warriors by their fellows. Yet the alcohol stung as the first finger entered him, and the cry he gave was not in lust but in pain.

Melpomaen stroked Haldir, concerned at the sting that Haldir so obviously felt. He withdrew the finger when the guardian muscle tightened, circling the entrance once more in gentle motions.

"Haldir, meleth," he soothed, stroking a hipbone in an attempt to pacify his love. "Turn over, dear one, it will make it much easier this first time."

 

//'Turn over, Hal. Go on your hands and knees.'//

 

Haldir complied, wanting Thal, wanting their joining. He presented himself to his love, hearing the groan of longing and desire emanating from behind him.

'Oh Gods,' thought Melpomaen. 'I love him so much!' He leant forward and kissed the soft curve of Haldir's cheeks, feeling the dripping pre-cum weeping from his own needy shaft. He laced the fingers in oil once more and pressed gently against the tempting rosebud.

It was not the gentle, slender fingers of the scribe that Haldir felt. It was not the beautiful whispered words of encouragement that he heard. Instead he screamed as the memory of thrust and shove, of lunging strokes of dry rod into poorly-prepared flesh burst forth in all their horrific remembrance. Of lubrication only with the blood from torn opening, easing Thalaglar's way. He screamed in denial and shrieked as he tried to escape the torment.

"No! No, Thal! Oh Gods it hurts, it burns! Stop! Stop!"

 

//' I can't, Hal! Oh Valar, you are so tight, so hot. Need you, need you! I'll make it good, meleth! Oh Elbereth, I'm coming!!'//

 

Melpomaen rocked back on his heels with shock at hearing Haldir scream, and cried out at the sudden realisation of what was happening. The warden thrashed beneath him, untouched now, weeping in an agony that Melpomaen could hardly comprehend. Haldir was not seeing him. Haldir was not hearing him. In his beloved's mind it was not he who was making love to the warden, but that lover of long ago - Thalaglar. Thalaglar had hurt him, was hurting him now, and suddenly he knew why and his heart broke for his desecrated lover.

Melpomaen panicked, knowing only that he had to wake Haldir from this violent illusion and return him to sanity and the safety of his own arms. He reached for Haldir's shoulder, trying to turn him to face him so that Haldir could see that it was not his 'Maen hurting him.

Haldir of Lórien was a Galadhel without peer, trained in all forms of combat to the highest level - with sword and knife, with bow - and with bare hands. He was trained to repel all attackers, with force and precision. Melpomaen could not defend himself save to throw his hands up as the Marchwarden lashed out in his tortured agony. Fist met face, and soft lips burst in an explosion of blood. The sound of bone splintering was as the crack of a whip, as a defending wrist was broken in a vicious grip. Then Melpomaen flew, flung forth from the bed by the strong muscles of the warden's rejecting arms, landing with a sickening thud against the talan wall on the other side of the room. The scribe whimpered in his pain and misery, feeling the sharp stabbing of the broken bones and the aching head where it had hit the wooden wall.

Haldir had rolled from the bed, rolled and twisted into a crouching position on the other side of the room, frantic in his disorientation. His eyes began to clear of reverie, yet tears of anguish and fear were pouring from the silver-blue orbs. In his half-awake state he heard the whimpering sobs of an injured animal, and looked around for the source.

Haldir saw Melpomaen, bruised and battered by his own hands. He saw the dark-haired scribe bleeding and broken, staring at him in terror across the talan floor. His jaw dropped as his mind tried to process the sight, and his memories - his dream - was suddenly made clear.

" 'Maen?"

Haldir's mind was frozen, frozen in the implications of Melpomaen's injuries - the injuries that *he* must have inflicted! He looked down at his hands, broad hands that had stroked gentle cheeks in loving touches, hands that had cupped the sweet face when he had brought their lips together in love. Now his mind flashed back two thousand years and he saw blood upon them, his own blood that had covered them when he had struggled to replace his leggings after that painful and shameful encounter. Blood that had poured from his torn opening in the aftermath laced with anguish, blood that had dribbled down trembling thighs. Blood that Thalaglar had turned away from, rejecting the young warden in disgust of his own excessive, uncontrolled lust. Blood that had soaked the seat of his leggings, had stained them as if it were red wine.

He could kill with these hands. He could have killed his little love. He could have been a kinslayer…

A scream tore from his throat as he covered his face with these hands.

Melpomaen looked at Haldir and saw that his love had returned, that the tortured creature who had lashed out so violently had looked at him in ghastly comprehension, and even through his own hurt he could see the torment evolving in the warden's dread understanding. He tried to reach out but the motion caused him to cry out in pain once more.

"Oh Gods no! Oh 'Maen, what have I done? Oh 'Maen…!"

The bleeding lips formed words of comfort, spilled forth love as well as blood. Melpomaen saw that Haldir was breaking, was cracking in the face of the evidence of his actions, and he feared for the warrior's sanity. Desperately he tried to reassure his lover of his understanding, of the lack of blame that he laid upon him.

"It was not your fault, Haldir… You were living a memory…of when … Thalaglar hurt you… He did, did he not? He raped you, Haldir…"

He raped me. Yes. No. No, I wanted him. We were too young. We didn't know how to… We were drunk. He wouldn't stop. He wouldn't listen to me. He raped me. He hurt me. He left me.

And the Marchwarden wept for the innocent who had died inside on that night.

Why, oh why had he thought that he could change his fate? He had nearly killed Melpomaen, could nearly do so again if he could not control himself in their bed. If he could not control himself in the heat of lust. The weight of his actions crushed what was left of his shattered self-belief, and with the accumulated exhaustion and grief of the past weeks of battle all rational thought left. His conscience could give him no succour, would yield him no respite and he could see no escape from the vicious trap that history had set for him. All logic deserted him and he could see only pain and loneliness in his future. Not 'Maen. Haldir groaned, knowing only that to keep his little scribe safe he must deny him now and keep him beyond arm's length - out of his deadly hands. He must send him away to safety.

Melpomaen watched as Haldir curled into a ball on the floor, curled in on himself and heaved great sobs of torment, hurling forth two thousand years of repressed agony. Thalaglar had hurt Haldir to the core and Melpomaen did not know how his darling love had survived such abuse, had not faded from the violation of his young body. But now he knew; they could heal together. He could help Haldir. They could be one, with counselling and preparation and care.

"I love you, Haldir. I will never hurt you. We can go to the Lady, we can ask for help, for you and for me. We can come through this -"

"NO!!!"

Haldir's head shot up in negation, his fears rising swiftly to gorge in his tightened throat. Oh 'Maen - precious, beautiful 'Maen! Flee, 'Maen! Escape from my dangerous hands, my destroying love! Run, run away!

Guilt now ran rampant and all hope fled. All thought of Galadriel and her redeeming rites emptied from his scattered mind.

"No! No, Melpomaen, no! No, I will not risk it. I will not allow it! My pain is my own. I cannot let you near me. I cannot… I knew I was wrong to try. I knew that I should not have allowed myself this hope, my love, my sweet one…"

He squared his shoulders, his ravaged face and bleak eyes clearly delineating his decision. A terrible, lonely, desolate decision. He had to release his love. He had to save him. The Marchwarden took over once more, that effective fighting machine that was so efficient, so strong in war - so used to orders spilling from his mouth.

"Go home, Melpomaen. Go home to Imladris. Go home, and find someone else who can love you as you deserve. I am but a shell, a warped and wounded soul who can never be the one for you. You deserve love, you deserve happiness. Find someone else, 'Maen. Find someone who will not hurt you."

And his heart cracked, broken on the duty of his love.

"No, Haldir…" The little scribe moaned as he heard the words of denial and rejection. "I will not go, I will not leave you. I love you and you love me! We can overcome this, we can work it out. It does not have to be this way."

Yes, it does, ind nín. I must keep you safe. I am a danger to you. You cannot stay. Silently he crawled across the floor, lifting and bringing a blanket with him. He draped it over the fallen scribe, placed it around his shoulders to bring him what little warmth and aid it offered. Haldir's hands shook, trembled as his fingers stroked upon the soft skin.

"Go home."

The dark elf sobbed, reaching with his uninjured hand to try to stop the warrior as Haldir stood and started to gather his discarded clothing from the floor, as he started to dress once more.

"I love you, Haldir! I love you!"

The actions were measured now, the fastening of the laces of the leggings, the buckles of the tunic, the tugs as he fastened his boots. Melpomaen started to pull himself across the talan floor to try to reach his soulmate.

"Do not go! Do not leave me, Haldir!"

The final severance. The oath he had spoken, the words he had come to hate, now was given new life as he sought to turn Melpomaen against him. His tongue seemed rooted, swollen as he attempted to kill Melpomaen's love for him - and which would serve to drive a ghostly dagger into both their hearts.

"I swore an oath."

Melpomaen stopped and looked up at the towering elf, confused. The silver-blue eyes shone with dripping tears.

"An oath?"

Haldir nodded, his lips twisting in anguish as he said the words that would separate him from his soulmate forever.

"When my father died I swore an oath to him. I swore that I would marry an elleth, have children and bring them with me to the Undying Lands. I swore it on his life and his death. I am still bound by that oath. I was never free to woo you, 'Maen. I lied to you. Because I loved and wanted you. Now that lie has taken me from you. I cannot remain, I am not free…"

Melpomaen shook his aching head in despair, hardly hearing the words. He knew only that he loved Haldir to the depths of his soul. But - not free?

"I release you from this courtship, Melpomaen of Imladris. I thank you for your love, which I will treasure in my heart forever. I beg you for your forgiveness, for the many hurts I am causing you. I pray for your future happiness, because I love you."

Inside he felt his heart break, seemingly releasing a flood of gore which flowed as if to swamp his lungs, expelling all breathe from his body. He was drowning inside, smothering in choking guilt and self-hate. Dark eyes looked at him, chocolate-brown orbs that he had once longed to sink into - but he was already dead. Haldir's silver-blue eyes were dulled by the death of his dreams, those beautiful dreams of life with his 'Maen.

Melpomaen understood that he had lost Haldir, and that all chance to persuade him otherwise was gone.

Haldir crossed to the door, wanting only to be gone from this heartache. He halted, turned and, berating himself for his foolishness, he allowed himself one final embrace. With a cry he ran back to the elf crumpled on the floor, scooping him up into his arms for one last kiss on the bruised and bleeding lips, tasting the hot and salty blood as he said his final farewell to his enchanting love.

Then he was gone, leaving a devastated former lover crumpled in abject and weeping misery upon a cold and hard floor, his tangled dark auburn tresses tumbling over shaking shoulders.

 

****

 

None saw the Marchwarden leave the city as the healers he had alerted now raced to the guest talan to tend a wounded scribe. None saw the devastation wrought upon the grief-stricken face of the grey-clad warrior, or heard his stumbling sobs through the undergrowth.

But all heard the bellowed wrath of an outraged father, howling through the mellyrn of Caras Galadhon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:
> 
> yrch - orcs  
> mellon nín - my friend  
> meleth nín - my love  
> ind nín - my heart  
> fëa nín - my soul  
> melethron - male lover  
> mellon - friend


	11. Chapter 11

Orophin's eyes narrowed as he carefully observed his older brother on the forest floor below talking to the newly arrived runner from the City of Trees, and he sighed as he saw the tired and harrowed expression upon Haldir's steady face. Messengers were no unusual occurrence, arriving regularly to speak to the Marchwarden and Haldir normally displayed no outward concern at their dispatches. However in the past week since Haldir had returned to the front from his brief foray to Caras Galadhon it seemed that his brother had struggled to maintain his stoic demeanour. He normally took care not to project onto his troops any of the misgivings, problems or dilemmas that he was probably facing. Well, that was as it should be; the Marchwarden carried the burden of command and the task of protecting his men. The burden had been great indeed in the past month, more so than at any time in Orophin's memory. 

Thankfully it seemed as if the orcs had been decimated during the invasion for there had been no attacks for more than a ten-day. Yet the tension and vigilance still ran high, and as the leader of the warriors of the Golden Wood Haldir felt the full weight of responsibility for his troops. Orophin had been talking to his superior only the day before about the necessity of re-establishing the monthly rotation of duty, and of the need for a major recruitment drive amongst the younger elves to bring the strength of the corps back to a manageable level. There was much work to be done but returning to the normal relief system was a priority.

Orophin winced inwardly at another thought, for he remembered the fact of his new position. He knew that he should be if not pleased at his promotion then at best gratified at the trust Haldir placed in him. He had worked hard and as Haldir's lieutenant the responsibility laid upon him was not a problem. Oh no, he could do the job alright - he just hated the fact that from now on he would be on opposite duty to his brothers, and that he would never take his rest month at the same time as Rúmil and Haldir. By the Valar, he would miss them!

He glanced at his brother again, so authoritative in his dealings with his men, and Orophin glowed with pride. His captain, his brother, his father, his guardian - Haldir had held the family together after their parents' deaths, he had brought them together and forged an unbreakable bond of familial love. He remembered those dreadful nights when all three of them had climbed into their parents' bed, and he remembered the childish sobbing of Rúmil and his own distressing moans of grief. Haldir had soothed them with softly spoken reminiscences of their father and mother, and the love that they had shared. No matter any differences of opinion, no matter any small spats or words spoken in anger, the three sons still held firm in their brotherly unity.

From his high vantage point Orophin noted with sorrow the sallow complexion and the ravages of war etched in lines around Haldir's mouth. Even the rounded cheekbones, so often the cause of merry jests and japes, now seemed sunken in appearance as more concerns weighed upon the Marchwarden's broad frame. 'Ai', thought the commander, 'He must miss his ' Maen so much.' Orophin thought back to Haldir's recent return from his trip to the city. His brother had been quiet, almost morose, but considering the speed of his return he supposed that he should not be surprised. Haldir could only have spent mere hours with his melethron - certainly either enough only for sleep or sex, but not both. Orophin smiled inwardly, for he remembered his own lustful needs when he had been in the first throes of love with Doron, and he decided that the Marchwarden was probably still exhausted. 

As his thoughts drifted to his own husband so did his hand drift to his groin, stroking the hardening member as he envisaged his enticing spouse. He had resisted the blandishments of the librarian at first, unable to believe that a book-bound elf could hold the interest of a worldly warrior. That resistance had faded at the first kiss, so tantalising and arousing in the extreme. The librarian had been both enthusiastic and experienced, and a furthering of their sensual encounters had opened his eyes and body to the depth of knowledge of a literary ellon. My, the esoteric books that Doron had had access to...! A thousand years had only increased his love and lustful appetite for Doron, and his body craved Doron's deft touch. His rampant longings and needs could only be assuaged by his bereth - and by his many erotic techniques. Orophin thought of how his husband must be coping in his absence and he wondered which of the many - toys - he had employed today to fill him and hold him in sexual tension until Orophin's return. Oh, his cheeky, teasing darling... Regretfully he removed his hand from his now aching member, very aware of his continuing promise of celibacy and restraint. Their reunion would be all the wilder for his compliance, full of the joys of marital lust and longing.

He looked down from the flet even as Haldir raised his eyes to him and he swiftly descended the tree at his brother's sharp nod. He crossed the grass to where the Marchwarden stood, the messenger still standing at attention awaiting his response. Haldir lifted the paper in his hand.

" Tôren, it seems that the party who are returning to Imladris will be passing the border in a few hours, yet I have received word that I am needed to the south. I would ask if you and your section patrol will give a final escort to Lord Glorfindel in his path to the Misty Mountains, in my stead."

Orophin nodded at once. "Of course," he said. "It will be a sad thing to see Lord Glorfindel leave, for he is a good friend to Lothlórien. It was truly amazing to see him as a warrior in action!" He smiled at Haldir, knowing the unique connection that his brother now had with the re-born lord. "I suppose that Melpomaen will want you to visit Imladris soon to meet his 'parents' formally?" Orophin grinned but the laughing smile faded at the brief look of dismay that flashed across Haldir's face. His brother quickly replaced the mournful expression and the cool commanding officer returned.

"Aye, Melpomaen loves his fathers," he murmured. "I must go, Orophin. Please, give Glorfindel my deepest apologies - for everything. Tell him - tell him that I wish him and his family nothing but the best, from the depths of my heart. I - nay, that is all. There is nothing more that can be said." 

The Marchwarden turned and without a word of farewell he picked up his bow and walked south, out of the glade and into the cover of the forest.

Orophin looked with wide-eyed bewilderment at this abrupt departure and glanced over to Rúmil , but his younger brother could do naught but spread his hands wide and shrug his shoulders in his own confusion. Ai, Haldir was indeed upset at this enforced separation from his beloved, and most probably at the inevitable postponement of the Lady's ceremony - the Dreamwalking. Soon, soon things would return to normal, then they could help Haldir with those mysterious misgivings he seemed to hold regarding his relationship with Melpomaen. Orophin grinned at the thought of the young scribe. As sweet and gentle as he seemed, Orophin sensed that the dark-haired elf had a strong stubborn streak - he could see that his formidable brother had indeed made a fine match.

It was over two hours later that Orophin receive word of the approaching party and he gathered Rúmil and his section together to greet the re-born Lord of Gondolin, so resplendent upon his great white horse. Orophin saluted in warrior fashion to the mounted warrior, making his low bow to show his deep respect for Glorfindel. The golden lord looked down at him, and upon rising Orophin was somewhat confused at the severe and scornful expression on his strong face.

" Suilad, Commander Orophin. I see that he had not the courage to come and face me."

Not understanding the hostile and cryptic words, Orophin fell back on his brother's equally mysterious instructions.

" Marchwarden Haldir has unfortunately been called away on urgent business. He asked me to convey his deepest apologies - for everything - and to send to you and your family his very best wishes for your health and happiness."

The sneer turned into a disdainful grimace as Glorfindel leaned forward and loomed over the Lórien elf. His golden tresses fell around his face, framing his blazing blue eyes.

"Tell your ' Marchwarden' that I accept neither his apologies nor wishes, and that if I see him again it will be at the end of my sword - and *that* will be at his throat. He is unwelcome in Imladris, he is unwelcome in my home and he will *never* be accepted in my family!"

Orophin stumbled back, aghast with shock at both the virulent words that fell from the twisted lips and at the snarling tone of voice used to deliver them. From further back in the mounted group Orophin heard a cry of protest even as his brother too exclaimed in surprise.

"Adar!"

"Melpomaen?"

Orophin turned to see the dark-haired scribe edge his bay horse forward and Rúmil jumped aside to avoid being knocked over. Orophin could scarce believe his eyes. The elf had thrown back the hood of his grey travel cloak and his brunette hair shimmered with red highlights in the noonday sun. Orophin's eyes were drawn to the faint bruising of the jaw and lips, evidence of the swift healing of the Firstborn and the tight strapping around the injured left wrist. There was both fury and futility in Melpomaen's gaze as he pulled alongside the commander that he had once thought he would call 'brother'.

"Mel - Melpomaen!" Orophin stuttered. "Why are you here? You - you are not going? Tell me that you do not leave!"

The sorrow in the chocolate-brown eyes was overwhelming yet love still seemed to reside in their depths. Orophin saw the jaw clench as the little elf sought to control his emotions.

"I can see that Haldir - that my love did not tell you... Glorfindel is both my father and my lord and I *must* obey him. The Lady too counselled me to return home until Haldir comes to claim me -"

"Never!" The golden lord swung Asfaloth between them. His eyes blazed with fury and righteous anger. "Mel, he tried to kill you!"

The anger was returned with full force.

"He did *not*! He was defending himself. Haldir loves me; he wants to keep me from harm. That is why he told me to go."

The commander broke in to the stormy exchange, horror resonating in his voice. "Haldir tried to kill you?"

"No!"

"Aye!" Glorfindel gesticulated at Melpomaen's bandaged wrist. "He broke his arm and nigh on cracked his head open. Oh, and gave him a split lip - not good for planting sweet kisses upon."

Rúmil's face had drained at this tirade, and then flushed red with rage. He turned towards the trees and let out a bellow.

"Haldir!"

The roar echoed through the trees as the assembled Galadhrim stood in bemused silence. There was no movement, no answer from the depths of the Golden Wood.

"He is not here, Rúmil ," Melpomaen said softly from his high perch upon his mount. "I know. I would feel him." He leaned down, his expression urgent and deep conviction in his words. "Lady Galadriel told me that he must attempt a ceremony, a walk through his past to reclaim his present and bring us hope of a future. She also told me of the nature of his oath, and that there might be a way to rescind it. Bring him back to Caras Galadhon, my brothers. Make him face his fears, for I yearn for our completion. I will await him."

"Aye, and so will I - and so will my bereth! If Haldir fears *my* wrath, be aware that Erestor was not always a scholar. My husband will break the bones of any who dares to harm his son. Imladris is no elf-haven for Haldir of Lórien."

Melpomaen twisted in his saddle slowly to face his foster-father, breathing deeply to calm his trembling voice as he made his final statement.

"We are soulmates. As I am Haldir's heart so is he my soul. We *will* come through this, one way or another." The scribe looked at Orophin and Rúmil once more. "If he will not come to Imladris, write to me and I *will* return." 

He looked defiantly at his father who said nothing, but simply barked an order to the following party. The horses began to move forward once more and the Galadhrim had no choice but to walk alongside them to give escort as required.

At the edge of the wood, at the fateful place where they had met but three months before, the scribes of Imladris took their leave of the warriors of Lórien. As the mounted cavalcade made their way up the slopes to the foothills of the Hithaeglir the two brothers saw the auburn-tinted head turn to cast one last lingering look back at the realm of Lothlórien. The brethren held fast to one another in their residual dismay and shock.

"Ai, were it not for our beloved spouses who await us in Caras Galadhon I swear that Haldir would have serious competition for that young elf. Melpomaen of Imladris may be diminutive in stature, but he is a giant in the strength of his love and devotion to our thickheaded brother."

Orophin nodded in agreement and anger. "Aye, at this moment I have ten times more respect for Mel than I do for our dearest Marchwarden. Gods, to where did our shining example of an ellon flee, either physically or emotionally? Did someone come three months ago and knock all strength and sense out of Haldir's head?"

Rúmil grabbed at his brother's sleeve in warning. "Mayhap it was Mel, but we should not speak too loudly of Haldir's failings," he hissed softly, glancing at the troop around them. "Already the scandal mill has been fed too much grist to grind."

Orophin agreed curtly, and the journey back to their post was fully occupied with delicate warnings to all those who had witnessed the altercation with Glorfindel. With paucity of speech, Orophin warned the warriors that if any word of the accusations spread from within their small group, then the Commander would have the greatest pleasure in censoring the culprit - by cutting out the perpetrator's tongue with a blunted blade...

 

****

 

It was but an hour before sunset when Haldir returned to the border. As soon as they saw the pale-gold head approach through the trees the brothers rose, but any remonstrations were forestalled as Haldir used hand signals to signify silence and the requirement to ascend to one of the high flets. The brothers obeyed their leader knowing that this dialogue was to be personal, and could not be discussed in front of the resting warriors. The climb was swift, performed in the elegant and agile manner of the elves of the trees.

Upon the flet the three brothers sat as if they were the three sides of a triangle, facing one another in shifting emotional discomfort. Rúmil's heart dropped when he saw his eldest brother's face, for he had not observed Haldir as recently or closely as Orophin. No longer did Haldir have the smooth, almost rounded contours upon his cheeks, or brightness in his silver-blue eyes. Instead there was hollowness and darkening beneath the haunted orbs.

"Ai, Haldir...!"

The Marchwarden's voice was soft and suffused with pain.

"How - how did he look?"

"You do not deserve him, tôren."

Haldir winced at the anger in Rúmil's tone even as Orophin laid a warning hand upon the lieutenant's arm.

"No, I do not," Haldir replied, his silver-gold hair falling over his pale face. "I know that. That is why I could not be there to see him - leave." He paused, choking down a sob. "I had to let him go. I nearly killed the one I love beyond life itself. So - I sent him away."

Orophin moaned softly at the defeat in Haldir's voice. He leaned towards his brother in support.

"He did not wish to go. He waits for you."

"He should not. There is no future for us."

"There could be - if you undertake the ceremony that the Lady suggested."

The shining head shook in denial.

" Argh!"

The two elder brothers looked at Rúmil as he exploded in frustration.

"For the Valar's sake, Haldir! When did you become such a defeatist? What in Arda does Mel see in you? For two thousand years you have led your troops - have led *us* - against orcs, against raiders, against oppression and tyranny and all evil things that dare to venture against the Golden Wood. You have led us with courage, skill and wisdom, and a determination that *none* could match. Then, in your longing for a soulmate doubt entered your mind, and now that you have found him - you collapse! Enough! We will see that you go through this trial, and you will come forth stronger and ready to unite with your ' Maen.

"Now, no more lies, no more evasions. I want to know the truth and I want to hear it *right now*! We are tired of the twisting hands and mournful sighs." 

Rúmil glared at the shocked faces, then laughed at the stunned expressions. Orophin shook himself out of his started demeanour and laughed too.

"Well, those were *my* lines - but you spoke them well, Rúmil . Aye, Haldir - we deserve to know the truth. We *need* to know the truth. Why did you lash out at Melpomaen so? And what oath did you swear?"

With two pairs of blue eyes focused upon him the Marchwarden of Lothlórien could do naught but return those stares until the overwhelming intensity forced him to capitulate. His voice trembled as he spoke.

"It happened so long ago... and it is not easy to speak about. So much pain, so many years..." 

Haldir tilted his head up to view the canopy above them, but the brothers knew that he did not see the golden leaves, nor the blue sky beyond. His throat clenched, the sinews of his neck rippling in the tension of the clenching of his jaw. 

"I once loved an ellon - I thought I loved him as I do ' Maen... I was but a youth, just reaching my majority but Ada - Ada did not approve. He warned me...Oh Gods!"

He thrust his head into his hands. A cry emanated from his open, sagging mouth, and the brothers lurched in dismay for it was the cry of a wounded animal, tortured and twisting in unending pain. Their eyes met in shock. 

"Wha -what happened...?" Orophin managed to stutter as Haldir rocked back and forth in grievous pain. 

Haldir could only shake his head repeatedly as he tried to make his lips say the words that he had withheld for two thousand years. All that he could emit were moans, for it seemed he struggled for his sanity.

"We were ... so young. Neither of our parents had told us... had spoken of ... physical love between ellyn... Oh Gods, we didn't know!"

The wounded creature howled, his sobs breaking through the cover of the trees. Rúmil glanced about, hoping that none were witnessing this searing confession but they two. 

"The- the red wine stains upon my clothes on the night of my initiation, Orophin? They were not wine..."

Orophin shook his head in disbelief, dawning comprehension filling him with both revulsion and compassion.

"The ellon - it was - Thalaglar? He...hurt you?"

Haldir nodded, fighting to control his emotions. Rúmil started to weep softly. He had never lain with an ellon, only ellith, and Meluiwen had captured his heart very quickly after their first meeting. Orophin however obviously knew how horrific an inept encounter of that sort could be.

"The stains, they were blood?" he asked gently. Haldir nodded.

"Blood. My blood - from a rough, drunken coupling. It - it was not Thalaglar's fault, for initially it was consensual - but in the final event he would not - could not - stop. It - it became...rape. We - we did not ...know how... not properly..."

He paused and the brothers wanted nothing more than to have him cease, to rest from the terrible words that had come forth in his agony of his memories. Haldir though seemed determined to finish though, to finally reveal all in his late-come honesty. 

"As a result... of the - inadvertent - rape, I... foreswore any further coupling with a male. I - I instead...took an oath that I would... marry an elleth who would bear my children." He looked up into their tear-soaked eyes, knowing finally that they would understand. "I swore it upon Adar's name, so that I could present him with grandchildren to carry on his line - and forget my dreadful... mistake."

The silence was immense, and seemed to last an Age as the brothers absorbed this unholy revelation. Haldir's sunken cheeks were now reddened and swollen, awash with the seemingly endless tears - as were those of Rúmil and Orophin. The trio grasped one another, clung to each other in grief and disillusionment as empathy for their beloved brother's long hidden trauma hit the younger elves. Empathy united them; finally the brutal truth lightened their hearts in the knowledge that the release of this festering secret bound them in support of Haldir. Now they could attempt to help their brother to beginning the healing of the wound inflicted upon him more than two millennia before. Rúmil spoke first.

"Does ' Maen know?"

Haldir nodded, his heart aching for the hurt he had caused his beloved scribe.

"My ' Maen is sharp of wit and sympathetic in the extreme. He was aware of my pain even before the invasion of the Golden Wood, but it was a fatal collusion of exhaustion, the depths of reverie and his endless love and need for our joining that caused me to lash out at him. I lost control and that is why I sent him away." 

Orophin nodded. "But you will recall him now? He knows, he understands, therefore now you can heal together."

Haldir shook his head. "I cannot. It would just happen again. I would hurt him again."

"But you need not!" Orophin pressed him. "And how *did* you hurt him? You know that ' Maen would not cause you pain - why did you lash out?"

"I did not know it was him!" the Marchwarden cried out. "He thought to wake me gently from my sleep, laying his mouth upon me, approaching in love and trust! But - but I was in a waking dream and I did not see him, but only the encounter of long ago. I - I - Oh Elbereth, I thought he was Thal! As he pressed into me I thought that he was Thal, and that he was going to rape me again and I could not let him and - I struck him! I wanted to *kill* him!!"

The warrior curled into himself, his arms wrapped around his drawn-up knees, his silver-gold hair falling forward as he rocked once more in abject misery. Orophin looked across at Rúmil , linked to his younger brother in their collusion in this confession, desperately trying to find the words to penetrate the pain that Haldir was feeling.

"You owe it to yourself, Haldir. You need him," he whispered.

Muffled words came forth from the folds of the wounded warrior's tunic.

"I hurt him. I would not hurt him again."

The silver-gold hair hung down over the gaunt face. Rúmil gently parted the makeshift veil.

"Yet he waits for you, Haldir. I have never before seen love, trust and devotion such as that which Melpomaen of Imladris holds for you. In the face of such loyalty, how can you not reciprocate his loving zeal? You *must* undertake the Dreamwalking, Haldir - for yourself, for us and for the lover who is so true."

The gently spoken words, articulated by one who was other than the two hearts involved, finally penetrated Haldir's carefully constructed defences, and the sweet attack initiated the crumbling of the wall of self-hatred about his heart.

"As for the oath," Orophin continued, " Melpomaen said that Lady believes that it can be withdrawn. Haldir, will you not make the attempt?"

"For yourself, Haldir," whispered Rúmil once more.

"And for ' Maen," added Orophin.

Haldir sat, staring out into the trees, thinking of his little lover. He was so patient, and so kind - so loving in every way. Melpomaen had longed so much for Haldir's love. He had initiated their courting. He had claimed the first kiss. He had taken Haldir to the heights of joy in their first sensual encounter. Could he abandon such love? Could he deny a soul so true? Could he reject so thoroughly the only one who could complete his soul? Ah, ' Maen... sweet ' Maen...

At that moment there was a breeze through the surrounding leaves, and he thought that he heard his name, but it was as a whisper spoken from another land, light and undefined. Was it...? Could it be...? The silver-blue eyes began to glow with tentative hope, and the full lips parted. He looked at his brothers, and took a deep breath as he came to his final decision.

"We - we are yet bound by our duty as wardens but... with both of you... supporting me, then - yes. Yes, I will talk to Lady Galadriel once more, and with her gracious help - and yours - I will - retrace - the path of my life."

And as three pairs of hands clasped one another tightly, Haldir once again thought that there was a murmur upon the wind and a fragrant touch of love - but it could have been but a zephyr of the air...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:
> 
> melethron - lover (male)  
> ellon - elf (male)  
> bereth - spouse  
> tôren - my brother  
> Suilad - Greetings  
> Adar - Father  
> Elleth - female elf


	12. Chapter 12

Even with the best of intentions and the quick refortifying of the Lothlórien borders, it was another month before the three brothers could quit the Northern Fences together. Haldir had returned alone once, to report to Lord Celeborn, and whilst within Caras Galadhon had been summoned by Galadriel to her grove. Her words had been tender and full of concern when she spoke to him.

"Fortune has not been kind to you, Haldir Celegonion. This unforeseen attack upon our fair realm, shielded so effectively from me by the Dark Lord, placed an intolerable burden upon you that had drastic consequences and great personal cost. Still, you triumphed against the Adversary and have emerged all the stronger. I offer to you once more all my assistance in the Dreamwalking."

Haldir had bowed in gratitude, now eager to accept that which he had once so lightly rejected. Yet he still feared that his separation from his soulmate might be made permanent by the intransigent wrath of Glorfindel and Erestor.

"I long to be reunited with 'Maen, yet I fear that I will cause a rift between fathers and son."

Galadriel had smiled enigmatically, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Know you so little of the fortitude of your intended, Haldir? Melpomaen of Imladris is no meek elfling, as you well know. Stand firm together and you *will* emerge as one."

And so it was that the sons of Celegon and Laeriel were now within the Grove of the Mirror with their two bonded spouses, united in a familial desire to heal their beloved Haldir. The two Walkers upon the Path, Haldir and Doron, had fasted that day in preparation for the rites. They were both clad in white silk tunics and loose pants and wore simple slippers upon their feet, so that no discomfort of clothing would impinge upon their consciousnesses. Now they sat upon the green sward, legs folded in easy grace and their hands clasped to each other in a circle of two. At the edge of the grove Orophin sat with R úmil and Meluiwen, the parents secure in the knowledge that their children slept peacefully in the talan of Meluiwen's sister.

Lady Galadriel took up two silver goblets and to them added sprinklings of herbs in small quantities and varied proportions. She then added a light golden wine, diluted with water from the spring that trickled through the surrounding rock wall of the grove. Carrying the goblets to the two ellyn, she placed them on the ground beside the sitting forms and nodded as they both turned their eyes towards her.

"The power that I now invest in the potion will give potency to the herbs lacing the drink. Within moments of imbibing, the outer world will fade and it will seem that a mist will rise to surround you. A path will appear beneath your feet; you, Haldir, you must take the first step, for it is your memories that are to be invoked. Doron, you must follow. You are both observers through time, invisible and inaudible to those whose history will be told. You may converse, for immediate discussion will aid your enlightenment. Doron, your task will be to extol your objective thoughts on that which you witness. The Dreamwalking will end when all the relevant memories have been visualised, and not before. Acts of both ill and good will be seen; words of pleasure and pain will be uttered; memories of evil and joy reviewed - all these must be experienced before you return to us."

The Lady of the Wood bent over the goblets, a hand hovering above each. The witnessing elves blinked as they thought that they saw a shimmer in the air above the cups, and a sprinkling shower of gold fall into their bowls. Delicate hands brought the rim of the bowl to the walker's lips - the first goblet to Haldir, the second to Doron - and both drank the contents in gulping draughts.

Orophin held tight to Meluiwen's hand, knowing logically that this was a rite of healing, yet he could not suppress a gasp as Doron's head suddenly drooped and his eyes glazed as if in reverie.

Galadriel knelt by the law-brothers, the lace of the train of her dress flowing about her bare feet; the excess of material at the cuffs of her sleeves fell over the dorsum of her hands as she laid them lightly upon the entwined fingers of the ellyn. Taking a deep and calming breath, the daughter of Finarfin exhaled slowly, bringing the questing brothers into the depth of reflections and memories... 

 

****

 

Haldir blinked his eyes rapidly as the noted path came into focus, glancing up in alarm when he at first could not see his brother's husband through the churning mists. Belatedly he registered the tight grip upon his hand and the mists parted to reveal Doron's enquiring face. The librarian's grey eyes danced in awe and delight at the prospect of this new learning experience, a delight not wholly shared by the Marchwarden. Noticing the reticence in Haldir's silver-blue orbs, Doron squeezed his hand in reassurance.

"Well, we are here, tôren," he said, smiling encouragingly at Haldir. He looked down at the path beneath their feet, then back at Haldir. "It is said that even the longest journey begins with one simple step. It is time to tread this path, Haldir."

Haldir nodded and took a deep breath as he placed his foot forward deliberately. There was no change in the mist and, after glancing back at Doron, the two ellyn began to walk slowly along the trail ahead. They had been walking but a few minutes when the churning haze parted to reveal a scene familiar to them both.

"It is your talan, Haldir!" exclaimed Doron, surveying the room that they now stood in. "Are they your parents?"

Haldir nodded, not daring to try to articulate his feelings through the sudden lump that clogged his throat. Before them was a tall, handsome ellon, slumped dejectedly over the railing of the balcony that surrounded the family talan. His clothes were such that it was obvious that they belonged to an earlier Age. The elleth who walked across the wooden floor was very fair and slender, her pale-gold tresses flowed freely over her slim shoulders and her gown swayed elegantly with her movements. She bore in her arms a child with silver-blonde hair, an elfling of perhaps no more that eight years. Gently she kissed her son's forehead before setting him down on a soft woven rug.

" 'Tis Naneth... and Adar..."

Doron looked at the awe-struck expression upon Haldir's face, and noted the involuntary stretch of his hand towards the parents who had passed to Mandos' Halls more than two thousand years before. The motion halted and the hand dropped as Haldir recognised the futility of the gesture.

Laeriel moved towards her husband, so mournful in his posture as he leant against the balustrade overlooking the tops of the mellyrn of Caras Galadhon. His warrior braids held the silver hair back from his face, and Doron and Haldir could clearly see the grief written upon his features. Laeriel laid her hand softly upon his shoulder and rested her cheek against his strong back.

"Dearest Celegon, you know how much I ache for your grief this day."

The elf nodded, lifting and laying his heavy hand over hers in silent thanks.

"It hurts, Laeriel. Though a hundred years have passed, still this day stabs me through the heart, as surely as the orc blade passed through his. I rue, with all the fibre of my being, the weak and selfish choice I made."

" Choice? You had no choice!" his wife remonstrated angrily. "The way of your heart was denied to you - and to him!"

Celegon shook his head. "Yet Thenin stood firm against his father even as I buckled. If I had not wavered under my father's glowering gaze, then perhaps Thenin would have stayed. He might not have taken the extra, unnecessary duty on the borders - he might not have died..."

"And if my Anoron had not taken the trading trip down the Anduin, and if he had not chosen to treat with those evil humans then my path too would have taken a different course! If, if, if!"

Laeriel turned her husband to face her and looked into his cobalt blue yes before burying herself in his arms. She clung firmly to his chest, and his tunic muffled her voice as she too grieved.

"We both lost the ones who were dearest to our hearts, yet we who were once childhood friends have now found solace in each other, have we not? And in our little Haldir?"

Celegon pressed a light kiss upon the pale blonde hair, tears glistening in his eyes.

"Aye, we have our beloved son. Thank you for him, dear Laeriel. Thank you for becoming my wife - and saving my life."

"As you did for me, meleth. I thank you too."

The mists swirled before them once more and the scene faded back into the recesses of time. Doron turned to see Haldir, his mouth agape in shock. He gently touched the warden's arm, alerting him once more to his presence. Doron looked at him in concern.

"You did not know that your parents were not soulmates? That they had other lovers who died?"

Haldir shook his head numbly, his limbs shaking with the shattering revelations.

"No! Never..." he blurted out. "I did not know - My father? He loved an ellon? A warrior? And Naneth, her love was one of our traders?"

Doron nodded sympathetically. He could see that even this first dream scene had cracked wide all of Haldir's preconceptions of his sire and dam.

"So it seems, yet it also appears that your grandfather was strongly opposed to your father's love for Thenin."

" But - but why? Soul-deep love amongst the Firstborn is the gift of Eru! None can gainsay it, not even the Valar."

'Yet you once did,' his law-brother mused as he looked closely upon the warden's face. They were elven, immortal, ageless - but Doron could have sworn he saw faint lines of aging in the skin around the silver-blue orbs. Lines of tension, of sorrow, of loss. 'We will prevail, dearest brother,' he thought. 'I will give you back your 'Maen...' 

Another thought passed through his mind, a vague twinge at the edges of his consciousness concerning a recent conversation about the unrestricted love of the Eldar and its denial...No, he could not quite recollect it, but he knew that it was important. As was the next step that they must take. They were barely begun - they should not dally. He was Haldir's Seer and the completion of the Dreamwalking was paramount for the well-being of his charge.

"We must walk again, tôren, and see where the path takes us next."

They turned to the trail once more, treading carefully to greet the next exposition to form out of the mists. The new scene was still set within the Golden Wood and was of two ellyn walking the winding pathways of the gardens of the city. One elf carried a newborn babe in his arms, and ahead of them ran a young boy - Haldir - chasing the butterflies that hovered amongst the colourful flowers. The elves conversed, but it was obvious that the dialogue was not a happy one.

"Orophin - a good, strong name." The elder elf smiled, gazing fondly upon the baby in Celegon's arms. "Aye, a fitting tribute to our king!"

Doron nudged Haldir, who stood spellbound at the sight of the speaker. "Do you know who he is?" the librarian asked. Haldir nodded.

"Aye, he is Brannon, my paternal grandfather. I always feared him, for he could be strict in his ways and rules." They hushed as Celegon spoke for it seemed that he was not pleased with his father's words and was now angrily refuting them.

"Nay, his name is his own! And my king is Amdir not Oropher, as my home is here in Lothlórien. I owe no allegiance to that over-proud elf!"

Brannon's face darkened, and Haldir had recollections of his grandfather's infamous wrath. Brannon was furious with Celegon's vehement remarks.

"We are Sindar and Oropher is our king!"

"Nay, not mine! Of you had wanted that oppressive noble as your monarch then perhaps you should have kept us in the Greenwood - then I would have been truly immersed in his dictatorial ways and my heart would not have been rent in two by compliance with yours - and his - evil demands!"

Celegon veritably spat out these words, causing Brannon to recoil, and the baby Orophin to wail in protest. Celegon immediately began to sooth his second-born son, clucking softly and stroking the downy blond head.

"Hush, my little Oro. Be at peace, little one."

As Celegon uttered the comforting words, Haldir saw Brannon smirk in obvious derision. Glancing down at his younger self who was oblivious to the interplay around him, the warden was amazed that the young child could have absorbed this altercation into his innocent subconscious. Doron tugged at his sleeve, alerting him to the adults' exchange once more.

"Well," drawled Brannon snidely, "it *does* seem that you are fading." He gestured at the two children, so alike to their father; obviously he was dismissing Celegon's love for his soulmate as a youthful folly. The warrior winced, torn by his beautiful and sensual memories of love and desire for his deceased melethron, and by his nurturing devotion to his beloved sons. Still he stood firm against his domineering father.

"Were it not for the generosity of Laeriel and her steadfast support then yes, I would probably have faded as would she have, from her own grief. That I had not yet bonded to Thenin makes no difference to me - Thenin was and is my soulmate. But as warriors we knew the inherent dangers of our duty. It is only in adherence to a joint promise that I remain in Middle Earth, for we swore that if one should die then the other would live a full life in his honour - and so I do. Laeriel gave me that chance and my sons hold me here in their love and helpless need." 

Celegon looked directly at his father, daring him to refute his next words. 

"Yet when I sail to Valinor it will not be in Laeriel's arms that I will find my rest but, if Námo is kind, the strong and loving embrace of my Thenin."

The fury in Brannon's voice broke through his formerly tight self-control. 

"You would leave your wife? You would reject the mother of your children, and see their distress at their abandonment?"

Celegon turned his head slowly in deliberate negation.

"Laeriel longs and hopes for the rebirth of Anoron, and it is to him that she will cleave. As to our sons, before I leave this earth I will teach them that love is beyond restrictions of gender and race, and is indeed the meeting of fëar. They will not know of the oppression of kings and the repression of truth. They are Silvan, and they shall be free to live their own lives and make their own choices. Not mine or yours."

Haldir's father turned once more to his infant son, rocking him tenderly in his arms. The scene began to fade, but not before the Dreamwalkers saw Brannon turn in speculation to the elfling playing happily upon the grassy turf, and a calculating gleam entered the Sinda's eyes...

Tears ran down Haldir's cheeks, and Doron could only take his husband's brother into his waiting arms, rocking him as gently as Celegon did Orophin. Long minutes passed until Haldir raised his head and by his expression indicated his need to continue. They did not speak, for there was no need. The cause of Haldir's false assumption of his father's wishes had been made clear and was only confirmed by the next few dénouements, where they saw how Brannon had spent hours with his eldest grandson unbeknownst to Celegon. His smooth and calculating words had impressed upon the elfling's psyche as the Sinda delineated an ellon's responsibility to a wife, a family and his lord. Like a sponge Haldir's young mind had soaked up the steady dripping of the many one-sided conversations that had been initiated by Brannon. Soon however, in the space of a few years to Doron's surprise, Brannon faded from the scenes. Haldir enlightened him as to the cause.

"My grandfather returned to the Greenwood. I can see now that he was unhappy in Lothlórien and probably was more suited to Oropher's realm."

Doron concurred, especially as he had now remembered the conversation that he and Haldir had had over three months earlier. "Yes, it was Oropher who had denied the elves of his realm of the right to wed without procreation - and made unlawful the joining of two males."

The next viewing was as painful to Haldir as the first two had been, for it was the conversation that he had recalled in his talan that night - the night when he had first pleasured himself with the thought of Melpomaen and had ended in tears upon the hard wood floor of his room. He heard his innocent declaration - and truly heard for the first time the sage and urgent advice of his father - and the aching pain and anger behind the words.

"... I was raised by a Sinda, and the values and teachings of the Sindar were most firmly embedded within me by my father. Those values have -* ruined* - my life. .. Listen to your heart, Haldir, though do not let it dictate your every step in life. Allow it to speak when the time is right and follow it, no matter what the consequences..."

Haldir gasped. "That was not the word he used! He said 'ruled', not 'ruined'!"

Doron pulled Haldir to face him, his hands gripping firmly to the warrior's shoulders. "Maybe not, mellon nín, but perhaps it is what he meant to say? We have heard of his love for Thenin, of the soul-binding endurance of that relationship. He wanted for you that which he could never have. I cannot agree with him about the ruination of his life for he truly loved his family, but it was obvious that he yearned for the love he had lost.

"Perhaps Celegon did *not* want you make that oath, Haldir, for it seems to me that he would never have accepted it. If that is the case, then surely your oath is invalid? If you are free of it, Haldir, then you can wed your 'Maen!"

Haldir looked at him, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Free? Truly, Doron?" He shook his head, uncertain of this interpretation. "Yet it is but a technicality. I swore the oath in good faith, and a change of intentions does not invalidate the words. I still feel bound - surely even if he did not accept it, it still has power - it still has force...?"

Doron did not know. He wanted to shake Haldir, force him to accept this reprieve for that is what he felt it to be in the depths of his heart. Somehow he knew that what he had said was true, but convincing his law-brother would not be easy. "This is but my interpretation, Haldir. I feel that you are free but until that is writ in truth upon your heart then no, it still binds your mind, if not your soul. The Lady will tell us when we return."

Haldir looked around at the white cloud in which they were enfolded. "But if as you say I am free of the oath, then why are we still here? Surely the Dreamwalking is over?"

Doron gently patted the arms where he had grasped but moments before, hesitant to speak his next words.

"I feel that you are free of your oath, meldir - but you are not yet free of your pain. We have yet to see the time of your initiation into the corps of the Galadhrim."

Haldir moaned, twisting in the librarian's grip to hide the face that was already swollen from the many tears he had shed. "Ai no! Oh Elbereth, please, no more..."

Doron held Haldir close, kissing his soft hair and rubbing his hand gently against the tense spine. He murmured words of comfort. "I will be with you, Haldir. I will give of my own strength to sustain you in your trial."

The feared memory did not come next. Instead they saw a procession of years when childhood playmates became staunch friends, then erstwhile lovers. The first kiss of Thalaglar and Haldir was gentle and sweet, warm in its loving innocence - and unintentionally observed by Celegon. He drew his son aside, giving him warning.

"My son, I would be wary of your infatuation with Thalaglar. I do not believe his family - his father - will be receptive to the idea of your love."

The youthful Haldir had not been of a mind to heed the words of his father, for this was an act of young rebellion, as well as a fight against his own demons in the form of the inhibitions generated by his grandfather's half-forgotten instruction. He was young and heedless, and in this way he fought guilt unfounded.

The drunken, fumbling liaison came next.

Haldir crushed Doron to him, crying as hysterically as had his younger self when copulation became violation. Not even Doron's hands covering his ears muffled the agonised screams - or the frantic apologies of the immature Thalaglar, torn from his sodden lust by the sight of the copious blood pouring from the injured Haldir. 

Shocked troopers had carried Haldir back to his parents' talan, traversing the back-ways of the city to avoid exposing their inadvertent part in this ruination. Haldir was laid upon a couch, vomiting the beer slops that lay in heavy sickness on his stomach; yet not succeeding in expelling the darkness that now lay upon his soul. Haldir's father had expounded his horror at his son's rape - and his rage at his Sindar forebears.

"Ai no! Oh my son, my little boy! Haldir, oh ion nín - I warned you, I did try...Thalaglar's father is your grandfather's contemporary from the Greenwood - he holds the same prejudices against the love of ellyn. He taught his sons naught of the joys of that love, and they know nothing of the precautions to be taken."

Laeriel looked up in anger and grief as she swabbed Haldir's forehead. 

"Does this need to be told now? Haldir is hurt, torn apart! He needs comfort, not confessions!"

Celegon wept, knowing that his wife was right, and he knelt beside his son to remove the stained leggings so that he could help clean and mend the physical wounds. He could not have known of the lasting damage caused by the psychological trauma, wreckage that would litter the centuries. Nor did he see a young elfling depart from his silent observation in the doorway of the bedroom.

Through his tears Celegon moaned again, but it was not to his wife or son that he spoke.

"Ah Thenin, ind nín, fëa nín - how can it be that I lost my heart to you, and my son has lost his virginity to your late-born brother? Our fathers' ruined our lives and love - is it my son's fate to be sacrificed to the hateful notions of a Sindar king? Nienna, Lady of Sorrows, hear my prayers for my beloved son. Of your mercy, send him your healing balm."

As the scene faded Haldir and Doron looked at one another in stupefied shock, in a silence that was finally broken by Haldir.

"Thenin and Thalaglar were kin? As I thought that I loved Thal, so my father is soulmate to his elder brother?"

"Aye, so it seems - it was fate indeed that intervened that night. You and Thalaglar were not meant to be." Doron paused, regarding the Marchwarden closely. "Haldir, what happened to Thalaglar? Why did he not make amends?"

Haldir hung his head, avoiding Doron's intuitive stare. 

"He tried to apologise - I heard that later - but his father had him locked into his room until arrangements could be made to send him to the Greenwood. He did not - love - me in the way that I had hoped, for he did not try too hard to protest his imprisonment but, so I believe, used it as an excuse to avoid me in his shame. The whole family went in the end. In later years I heard that he had wed and had sired two children. He died in the Last Alliance with his father - and my grandfather too - as part of Oropher's futile and untimely assault. My father died as well, but as part of Lothlórien's guardians."

The silence fell heavily once more as they stood in the unfolding blankness of the white fog. Doron looked around but, save for the path beneath their feet, there was nothing to be seen. He had thought at the start of the journey that there would be a dampness awaiting them in the mists, or a bone-chilling cold - but there had been nothing of the sort. There had been no external distractions from the heart-rending recollections of the Marchwarden and, with each memory, Doron had felt his love and admiration for his brother-in-law increase. 

For a thousand years Haldir had been a presence in his life - as a strong yet kind ellon; a firm and fair leader of his troops; an understanding and loving brother; he was caring and empathic as a lover of the many ellith he had courted. Only in the past decade had Doron felt the shadow fall upon him as Haldir had despaired of finding a true companion to complete his life. All had welcomed the arrival of Melpomaen, but the wild excesses of joy and despair had finally revealed the anguish that Haldir had somehow controlled since his majority. Only an elf of astounding self-will and amazing courage could have withstood the insistent urges to allow fading to come to pass - most elves who had been subjected to such treatment would have passed to Mandos' Halls within months of the despoliation. Yet Haldir had survived. Not only that, but he had taken on the role of father to his young brothers; he had forged a long and distinguished career and had gained the respect of rulers and lords in all the elven realms of Middle Earth. He was indeed an ellon worthy of great praise.

It was Haldir who stirred first, looking about in bewilderment.

"Is there no more? Are we free to return? Why do the mists not part to allow us to wake?"

Doron looked about him. "I do not know. Perhaps it is as any other journey, and we must walk the path to its completion." 

He looked expectantly at Haldir and together they turned and began to walk once more upon the path. It seemed that their reasoning was correct for soon a gap appeared in the former void that resolved and enlarged to reveal the grove of the mirror ahead of them. They could see their bodies tended by Galadriel and watched by their concerned family. Smiling in relief, Doron turned happily to Haldir - but then stopped in surprise. The Marchwarden had turned to face the way they had come, and his expression was one of wonder and joy. Doron looked to see what had delighted Haldir so but saw only the white mists.

"Haldir?"

There was no response - at least, not to him. Instead Haldir raised his hand and stretched it out in repetition of that first time of seeing his parents, so many memories ago. The full lips parted and his words were as a breathy exhalation.

" Ada? Nana?"

Doron saw nothing, but Haldir was obviously enthralled. He seemed to listen intently to his unseen parents. A single tear rolled down a cheek that was already reddened with too many shed tears, but the smile on his face was almost beatific.

"Oh Ada, thank you! Thank you! I love you Ada, Nana. I am so glad that you have all found your happiness. I will bring 'Maen to you when it is our time to travel, and Orophin and R úmil too! And this is Doron, your son-in-law!" The Marchwarden gestured to Doron. "Yes, and Meluiwen and the children will come too. I love you! Navaer!"

Long did Haldir weep and smile before turning to Doron, who wept also for the poignant vision Haldir had received. Once more he opened his arms as he smiled at Haldir, and the joyful warrior fell into his arms - as they both fell out of the Dream.

 

****

 

Orophin gasped as Haldir fell into Doron's arms and the two elves, who had been as weeping statues throughout their meditations, collapsed onto the grass. Galadriel slumped too, ejected from her controlling trance when the brothers fell.

"Doron!"

The Galadhel leapt to claim his husband even as R úmil and Meluiwen gathered Haldir into their arms. The Lady breathed in short gasps, trying to collect her thoughts, and carefully observed the two participants of the ritual. It was but moments before they stirred from their stupor and, at a quiet request of Galadriel, R úmil crossed to the spring to retrieve three cups of cool, reviving water. The questers and the elven queen were soon composed again, although Haldir remained silent as he curled against R úmil. Galadriel spoke.

"Thus is the Dreamwalking complete. Will the Walkers speak of the truths that they witnessed, and the conclusions drawn?"

Doron looked at Haldir but the Marchwarden had averted his eyes in weary refusal. It was too painful and draining for him to recall so soon. The librarian nodded in understanding.

"I will speak," he said softly.

The telling was long and accurate, retrieved from an ordered mind and interposed with the interpretations that they had assigned to each scene. By the end of the tale all but Galadriel were weeping quietly in sorrow for Haldir's hurts, and in love for their departed parents. Doron looked at Haldir once more.

"There is one last part, but Haldir must tell of it for he saw it, but I did not. It was a vision for him alone."

At the expectant query Haldir finally raised his head.

"I saw Nana and Ada in a far distant land - of greens and golds, of tall trees and rolling hills. They were with their respective lovers, Nana enfolded in the arms of Anoron, Ada clasping the hand of Thenin. They spoke of their continuing love for me - for us all, including your children, R úmil. They are happy that we have found our life's partners, including my 'Maen. And Adar reaffirmed that my oath was ill-spoken and that he never wanted it. And that I am free of it." He turned to Galadriel. "I do not know if my vision was true, or only my own wishful thinking."

Galadriel smiled and laid her hand upon Haldir's. 

"It was none of my doing, but I felt their presence too. I sensed the words that were spoken by your father, and they were spoken in love - and to free you from the binding chains of your ill-founded oath. Whether they are in Mandos or reborn to Valinor I do not know, but the vision was true, and a gift of the Valar so that you could finally gain a peace that you deserve. You are free to wed whom you wish, Haldir Celegonion. 

"Now go, my Marchwarden. Let R úmil and Meluiwen take you to their talan to rest, for you should not sleep alone this day. Sleep long, and wake knowing that your future is bright."

Haldir nodded in thanks and allowed his brother and sister to lead him from the sheltered grove. Doron and Orophin waited, for it was apparent that Galadriel wished to speak with them alone. When the others had gone, she turned to face Doron.

"You have been a true brother to Haldir this night, Doron, and a perfect companion throughout his trial. His healing has begun, his oath dismissed - but there is more to be done. I place my trust in you once more, Doron. Let your love with Orophin be his example for his new life with Melpomaen. Let your love be his teaching. Bring him the knowledge that he needs - both of you."

Her lips curled in secret mischief, a grin that was echoed by Doron's. Laughing lightly, she kissed them in turn upon the forehead then left them as she exited the grove.

Orophin turned to his husband in confusion. "What does she mean, Doron? What must we teach Haldir?"

Doron shook his head and burst out laughing. 

"Oh, this is going to be *fun*!" 

He took Orophin's hand and leaned to whisper into his ear - then soothed his bereth when he released an explosion of shocked denial. 

"Come now, my sweet - we have much to organise..."

Orophin looked at Doron intently for a moment, then he too laughed and grasped his husband around the waist as they left to return home - and prepare for the days ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:
> 
> ellyn - male elves (pl)  
> tôren - my brother  
> elleth - female elf  
> Naneth - Mother  
> Adar - Father  
> ellon - male elf (sing.)  
> mellyrn - mallorn trees (pl)  
> meleth - love  
> melethron - male lover  
> fëar - souls  
> mellon nín - my friend  
> meldir - friend  
> ion nín - my son  
> ind nín - my heart  
> fëa nín - my soul   
> Ada -Daddy  
> Nana - Mum  
> Navaer - farewell  
> Bereth - spouse


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay - CHAPTER WARNING!!!
> 
> Sex lessons, bordering on incest. 
> 
> This may squick some people out, but I hope that it has been written sympathetically...

Haldir walked slowly through the bases of the great mellyrn trees of Caras Galadhon, his mind oblivious to the movements and business of the other inhabitants of the Tree City. These last few days had seen his emotions tossed and turned as if on the wild waters of the Falls of Rauros, as he had tried to come to terms with all that he had seen, heard and felt during the Dreamwalking ritual. For many long hours he and his whole family had sat and talked. Each tale, each telling brought him nearer to equilibrium as he felt the joyous release from the chains of his childhood, and the dawning of light upon the misunderstandings of his Majority. The bonds upon the mind had been as heavy as physical shackles but, in their breaking, his spirit had soared as easily as a songbird released from a gilded cage. Much comfort had the brothers found in Haldir's last revelation, the vision of their parents - well, it seemed that at least R úmil did, for Haldir could not make out what to think of Orophin's erratic behaviour.

As happy as he had been at Haldir's recovery, still Orophin seemed reserved around him, as nervous as a kitten - or as a plotter in some kind of dark conspiracy. Often Haldir saw him glancing at his husband, an excited and daring gleam in his eyes that Doron did not return. Ah no, the librarian was much more composed in his demeanour, confident in whatever little plan the two had cooked up between them. Which was why Haldir had initially hesitated in agreeing to spend this evening with his brother and his bereth.

Haldir looked down at the clothes that he wore, selected at the suggestion of his brother-in-law. Doron had said that this was to be an evening where he would find comfort in their company and that his garb should reflect that comfort. Haldir suspected that he was to be given an overview of what life was like in the home of two married ellyn, but he hardly thought that after witnessing a thousand years of their marital harmony - and occasional strife - that they could think he was unaware of how devoted the two were. Still, he had complied and now sported a loose shirt and simple grey leggings, and wore thin house shoes instead of his usual Galadhrim boots.

His gentler stroll had brought him to the base of their mallorn, and he made an easy ascent to their door. Even as he raised his hand to knock on the wood, the door flew open and Orophin stood there, a manic and delighted grin on his face.

" Tôren! Come in, come in!" Orophin stood aside and allowed his brother to enter. Haldir felt a frown of confusion form on his face at this display of extreme enthusiasm, and he tried to clear it as Doron greeted him cordially.

" Suilad, Haldir! Come, sit - we were just having a drink of wine. See, it is a vintage of which even you must approve!"

Haldir looked and did approve, and he sat with them in easy conservation as they nibbled at the tasty snacks that Orophin had prepared. As the conversation unwound, Haldir smiled gratefully at the couple.

"I see what you are doing, you know," he said softly. Orophin started in guilty surprise, looking sharply at his husband. Doron just returned Haldir's smile, twirling the stem of his goblet between his fingers in easy reflection. 

"Really?"

Haldir nodded. "Yes. You are trying to show me how good married life can be between two males but really - you need not! I have seen your love surpass a thousand years of happiness. I truly know how devoted a couple you are."

Orophin grinned in embarrassed agreement but Doron remained still, his only movement the twirling of his fingers, spinning the goblet back and forth in his hand. Finally he spoke, staring directly into Haldir's puzzled eyes.

"You may have seen the outward expression of our love, Haldir - but you have not seen the activities we undertake in our marital bed. And that is the knowledge you are lacking."

Haldir gasped, his eyes wide with unbridled surprise. Orophin had flinched at his husband's bluntness but still Doron sat composed, holding steady his watchful gaze upon his law-brother. When Haldir could at last form a coherent thought, his uncertain protests fell from trembling lips.

"You cannot mean... You are not suggesting...?"

Doron smiled patiently, waiting for Haldir to articulate what he knew would be his concerted rejection.

"You are bonded!" the Marchwarden finally blurted out. "You cannot lie with another, be they ellon or elleth!"

"No," Doron agreed. "But we can show you. Think, Haldir. Your one, single experience of coupling with an ellon has twisted and perverted your life thus far. You have relived and survived that dreadful memory, exposing the false sense of guilt that has bound you for millennia and it is now scattered to the four winds, leaving your soul relieved of its stain. You are now free of your oath and you desperately want to claim your lover - yet will you bring to that joining no knowledge of at least the basics of lovemaking between males? *That* is what we can teach you. That is what we are *going* to teach you. Now. Here. Tonight." 

"Tonight?" The word came out as a squeak, disbelief and shock rife in its expression. Frantically Haldir turned to his brother, sure that Orophin did not agree to this outrageous suggestion. " Oro? You can't want to - I mean, this should be something private between you .... Oro, you are my *brother*, for Arda's sake!"

Orophin blushed and shrugged apologetically, but there was no mistaking the excited brightness of his eyes. "We-ell..." he drawled, his voice husky with anticipation . "The Lady did tell us to do this..."

Haldir gulped. "Galadriel...?"

Doron nodded, finally laying aside his goblet. He leaned forward and laid a gentle kiss upon Haldir's parted lips. Pulling back slowly he stretched out his hand to take Haldir's trembling fingers. The librarian nodded to his husband, who took Haldir's other hand, and together they stood, drawing Haldir up with them. Haldir could do nothing in his numb state of disbelief save follow their gentle encouragement into their bedchamber.

The room was prepared for a sensual assignation with many decorative candles lit about the room, their flickering flames shedding a subtle glow across the open space - and the generous bed set in its centre. Piled high with cushions of velvet and silk and luxuriously draped with linens and furs, it was decadent in its obvious statement of the activities that it expected to bear this night. A quick glance revealed none of the plush toys that Doron had joked about on that night at R úmil's talan. Instead Haldir saw the two bedside tables, one of which was adorned with many phials of shiny liquids, the other covered with a white cloth that concealed objects of seemingly cylindrical shapes. Haldir saw a leather strap and buckle poke out from one edge of the cloth, but although his curiosity was piqued he decided to make no comment. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know the answer...

He watched as the two husbands undressed each other, small exploratory kisses being laid upon each other's lips, neck and torso as slippers were removed, belts untied and laces loosened. He could not help but glance at their groins as impressive and impatient erections were revealed. As shafts and lips collided with heated fervour so did the expressed groans become rampant. Haldir felt his own member quicken and stir, swelling rapidly at the erotic entwining of the two males. Reluctantly the lovers parted, and together they aided Haldir to disrobe but did no more than place sweet lips upon his lips, his cheeks, his jaw-line, his throat. He was thankful that Doron handed him a simple dressing robe to cover his nakedness, and his brother-in-law then led him to sit on one side of the bed even as Orophin climbed into its centre and lay supine on the sheets. Orophin's eyes were wide and sparkling in excitement and Haldir's could not avert his eyes as his brother started to stroke himself.

" Oro, I - I don't know if I should be..."

Orophin, shook his head and held out both his hands - to his husband and to his brother. The intensity in his eyes spoke of his need to have Haldir participate and, as always, Haldir could refuse his little brother nothing.

Doron knelt onto the other side of the bed, his eyes meeting Haldir's over the waiting body of his husband. He laid one hand upon Orophin's, halting his increasing strokes upon his member, and instead the scribe began to sweep his own hand over the bare skin of the warden's muscular chest. His movements were languorous and made with much reverence.

"We ellyn," Doron said suddenly, "We are little different to ellith in our responses to the touch of a sensitive hand. The face, the ears, the throat -" his gentling hand moved slowly over the flawless flesh, causing Orophin to gasped at the sensations evoked, " - the chest and the nipples, the navel... These are all erogenous zones to both sexes. You have the reputation of being a consummate lover, Haldir. I will not insult you by presuming to teach you that which you know so well. I will forebear on commenting on these areas save to say that Oro is especially sensitive - here!"

Orophin cried out, and arched his back in lustful shock as Doron suddenly leaned down to lap at the exposed nipple. His groans were loud indeed at the loving ministrations Doron laid upon it - the licking, the suckling, the nipping and biting at the small erect nub. Orophin squirmed where he lay, his fists gripping and twisting the sheets beneath him as he begged for more, as he ached for attention to be paid to its neglected twin. 

"Patience, pen vaelui," Doron whispered, and the librarian grinned as his warrior leapt at the cool breath of exhaled words that washed over that sensitised nub, sending darts of lightning through the archer's body. The bobbing member reacted as if it had been the destination of the lightning bolt and Haldir could only gaze in heated stupefaction as the dripping cock darkened with engorging blood. His hand drifted to his own aching shaft, but Doron saw the movement and shook his head.

"Not yet, tôren vuin." 

He returned his attention to his panting husband, his low voice almost detached in his expounding commentary. "Now, the hipbones too can be particularly sensitive; small kisses peppered along the juncture of thigh to body normally makes Oro scream with delight, but you," he shrugged , " you will have to experiment with ' Maen. Believe me, it will be delightful for you both in the first years of your relationship." Doron glanced up, a mischievous light in his eyes. "Has he taken you in his mouth yet, Haldir? Has he enfolded you in hot, wet heat? Does he move his lips over your turgid shaft, mimicking a hotter, tighter channel waiting for you? Does he suck upon you, bringing you closer and closer to completion?"

Both brothers groaned at this erotic description - one at the visualisation of his far-distant lover bending his dark head over Haldir's groin, the other as he thrust his hips up forcefully to indicate his dire need for that act to be played *now* upon his swollen organ. Doron did not deny his husband, and moments later could be heard the renting of fabric as Orophin tore at the sheets within his grasp, screaming with rapture.

The loving administration continued for long minutes and Haldir could feel the soaking moisture of his pre-cum running in rivulets down his aching length. Only his power of self-command withheld his palm from wrapping itself around the thick cock to relieve this lustful ache. When Doron finally released his husband's still full member, Orophin let out a stream of frustrated curses. Doron laughed.

"Hush now, Oro, or you will frighten your brother with your ardour!" Doron pointed to the table littered with phials of oil. "Haldir could you please pass me that large phial, the cut glass one?" 

Haldir complied, and Doron took it and removed its stopper to release the smoky odour of orange and cinnamon. Doron continued his commentary as he coated the fingers of one hand with the oil.

"This thin oil is the best medium to lubricate the passage for penetration, but you can experiment with different greases when in less convenient - 'playgrounds'." Orophin laughed and smirked at this oblique reference to an obviously shared experience. "This oil is a favourite one of Oro's but there are many different scents to try. In the field, the linseed oil used for tending bowstrings is good and, when you both have become experienced, even the spread of pre-cum and spent seed can be used. Of course, we have experimented with other, less obvious lubricants..."

"Cream," Orophin panted as Doron's finger slid between his spread thighs. "Cream is good - or butter. Oh, and tongue - oh Gods, the feeling of his tongue licking at my entrance - oh Valar, that is *so* good!"

Doron patted his husband's flank and quickly Orophin bent his legs up to fold his knees to his chest, exposing his receptive entrance. Doron placed one oiled finger to the puckered rose, circling it gently. His actions caused a slight relaxation of the muscle there and Doron grinned, looking up at a bemused Haldir.

" Oro knows and welcomes my touch. I could take him now, with a little oil on my length. I could take him forcefully and cause him no harm, for our years of loving have taught us much and we have never wearied of this act. But for you and ' Maen, you must take care to complete your preparations fully. One day you too will be an old married couple, secure in your love and sure of each other's tastes in your joinings. Until then, tôren', watch and learn."

Orophin gasped with joy as the first finger penetrated him and Haldir could only watch in awed amazement as Doron turned and twisted the digit, bathing the inner passage with the oil. More oil was poured upon the removed fingers, then two fingers were re-inserted, scissoring and stretching the opening with gentle pressure.

"The muscle must be encouraged to relax, and this is the most effective method. See, I now add a third to expand it even further. Take your time at this point, tôren. The more thorough the preparation, the less likely it will be that your love will feel any discomfort when you enter him - though there may still be some. However, the most unique sensation is that of fullness beyond reckoning, and the bliss of knowing that the one filling you is your heart's desire."

Doron glanced up at Haldir, not surprised to see a wince of uncertainty upon the gentle face. Yet there had been no other way to word the warning. Haldir's eyes travelled from Doron's fingers, so hypnotic in their exploration of the now widened opening, to Orophin's face glowing in his ecstasy. The librarian was not surprised to see in the open expression signs of the reluctant battle within the warrior; the conflict between the necessity to learn, and a strong and strange arousal at seeing his brother twisting with lust and need at Doron's expert ministrations. It took no contemplation on Doron's part to take the next step, and with his free hand he grasped his melethron's purple shaft, causing his lover to cry out. Haldir looked sharply at Doron but the librarian shook his head.

"Look at Orophin, meldir. See what joy my fingers can bring him."

Haldir obeyed, and watched and listened to his tutor as Doron now crooked his fingers within the tight passage, stroking the upper wall firmly with the tips. The Marchwarden started as Orophin instantly bucked up, thrusting hard into Doron's hand with a loud scream. Haldir turned in alarm to Doron - and saw an expression of tender love and satisfaction as the elf gazed down upon his husband. Noticing Haldir's attention, he grinned.

"There is a small raised area in the front wall of a male's passage - a gland that when stimulated by pressure and stroking can bring much pleasure to the ellon beneath you. The implement can be your fingers or your shaft, or - but no, that can wait. Now care must be taken first to find it, then its treatment must be gentle for too firm a stroke can bruise the pleasure spot and cause pain and not pleasure - but when caressed rightly..."

Orophin cried out once more and his hands flew to grip the struts of the bedstead as he pumped repeatedly into the grasp of Doron's fist.

"Yes! Yes! Oh Valar, I am going to come!"

Immediately Doron ceased, removing his hands from both shaft and hole and instead squeezed firmly at the base of Orophin's cock. 

"Nay, not yet melethron. We have a way to go yet."

Orophin moaned in disappointment. Doron poured more oil onto his hand then reached out to take Haldir's fingers, coating them with the slippery fluid.

"Your turn now, tôren."

"*WHAT*?!"

" Doron!"

The exclamations from the two brothers were loud to say the least, as both Haldir and Orophin turned outraged faces upon the instructor. Doron shrugged and bent down to passionately kiss his bereth, effectively silencing his protests. When he had finished ravaging his lover's mouth to silence, Doron sat up again, grinning sheepishly at the wardens. 

"Well... Haldir has to learn how to please his ' Maen and as for you, my heart - you will reap the benefit of his newfound skills. At this moment does it really matter if it is he or I who pleasures you now? We both love you, after all..."

Not heeding their apprehensive looks Doron took hold of Haldir's wrist and guided the oiled hand to Orophin's expanded opening.

"Be gentle with him, Haldir - but make him scream..."

The Marchwarden shook his head in stunned denial, but contrarily he obeyed Doron's command. Mentally Haldir was berating his own eagerness, for his innate sense of right and wrong cried out in protest of his usage of his brother in this way. This act could be - *must* be - defined as incestuous in the extreme, for a brother should not know of the means to make his sibling cry out in sexual desire, never mind actually pleasure him! Yet this was a lesson sanctioned and beatified by the Lady, by Galadriel herself, and was an experience that would never be repeated. It was so tempting in its extraordinary fulfillment, and his brother was *so* beautiful in the flush of desire. The erotic thrill of the forbidden flushed through Haldir and without further thought he placed his fingers at the now-flared opening.

Haldir could hardly believe that he was complying with these insane instructions, but when he felt the moist tightness of his brother's channel he near came undone himself, thinking of Melpomaen and how *he* would feel. Tentatively he curled his fingers as instructed and felt a surge of satisfaction as Orophin responded to the pressure again and again. Oh Gods, that it could be ' Maen before him - ' Maen, with his auburn hair spread upon the pillows, slick strands teasing his sweat-soaked face, tears of bliss escaping from beneath those absurdly-long lashes. He could see those pouting lips parting as excited moans escaped his pert mouth. Oh Elbereth - my ' Maen...

'' ' Maen!"

Doron laid a hand upon his arm, smiling gently as he saw the longing in Haldir's face and he knew that it was not Orophin that he saw in those tear-filled eyes. The sight for him was extremely erotic, and when looking upon Haldir he saw that the warrior was revelling in the power he held to make his brother thrash with need. This was the type of loving control that Haldir needed to learn, for knowledge empowered an individual, and engendered confidence. It would give Haldir the courage that he needed to return to and complete his union with Melopomaen. But for now, the control had to return to Doron - and Orophin's climax would have to wait.

Haldir stopped, staring as Doron lifted the white cloth on the bedside table and slid his hand under it so that he would not fully reveal the items lying beneath. The librarian retrieved the object that Haldir had noted earlier and his breath hitched as he saw the phallic object in Doron's hands, staring avidly at the straps attached to it. His heartbeat had increased throughout this entire surreal experience - now he felt as if he were running a race for his life.

" Wh-what is that?"

Orophin groaned when he saw what his husband held. "Oh, yes - oh please! My husband is so ...imaginative, so inventive... Our love is brightened and our intimacies expanded in his gentle, capable hands..."

Doron blushed in response to this compliment and squeezed his darling husband's hand. 

"Ai meleth..." He looked at Haldir, then at the object. "When we first wed I founded our enforced separations very hard to bear. Oro's duty came first, but the month apart seemed endless and frustrating. Then I found that we were not the only couple who needed something - more - to assuage our longings, and relieve our aching hands! This phallus will hold Oro's opening wide, keeping him stimulated for my taking of him. It is not long, barely enough to reach his pleasure spot but when he moves in certain ways it - stimulates - him, causing the reactions you have seen. I have one of my own, slimmer in girth, and so I may wear it when he is away. It reminds me of my need for him, as if I needed such a reminder!" 

The smiles induced by these words were almost blinding to Haldir's eyes, as the two elves gazed in mutual adoration. The Marchwarden ventured a quip to lighten the mood. 

"Then it is well that the robes of a scribe are loose in the extreme?" 

They laughed dutifully, then Doron raised Orophin's hand to his lips, gently kissing the knuckles as he slowly inserted the oiled implement. Orophin moaned and raised his hips further to allow for deeper and fuller entry of the thick phallus. Deftly Orophin affixed the straps, then Orophin rolled up onto his knees, moaning breathlessly with quick pants as the movement stroked his gland. He came to kneel beside Haldir, who saw the husbands looked expectantly at their brother. Orophin cast a brief worried glance at Doron as he saw his husband fight to find the correct words to continue this unique lesson.

"Haldir... The joys of male love differ from those with an elleth, for we can both - give to - and receive from our partner in a physical sense. In many such relationships one partner may prefer to be the giver, the other to accept his lover within his body. Others prefer a more equal approach, of turn and turn about. With Oro and me, my darling bereth desires to relinquish in our bed the command he must show in his duties. In this way he can gain respite from his cares and obligations, but often he desires to lose himself in me as I need to feel the filling love of his domination.

"How you will find this balance with Melpomaen is between the two of you, but we have shown you how to prepare to take of your love without ordeal. Now, Haldir - we must show you how to accept and find pleasure in receiving Melpomaen's love within *you*."

The tremors started even as Doron was speaking, and Haldir felt his brother wrap his arms around him. Oh Varda, would this fear never leave him?

"I - I don't think... I can...Oh Doron!"

"Hush," Orophin soothed his brother, stroking his hair gently. "You are *not* caught in the web of sleep tonight, nor are you in the presence of an untrained yet loving scribe. We are experienced ellyn, strong and aware - we are not ' Maen and you cannot hurt us. Let us show you how wonderful he will feel when you make love to him, and the bliss he can bring you. Let us show you in some small way how he will complete you. Close your eyes, if you wish, and dream of him..."

Their faith and love in his brothers' eyes, and the feel of Orophin's hand holding his gave him some courage, yet still Haldir trembled. For ' Maen. Do it for ' Maen. He looked once more at the place where Orophin had lain, so wanton in his lust when both Haldir and Doron had tended him. He saw again the awed delight that had appeared in Doron's eyes when Orophin had looked up at him in total love and gratitude - and trust. He wanted that. He wanted to complete the tiny circle that was Haldir o Lórien and Melpomaen o Imladris.

He finally nodded to Doron and lay nervously back upon the pillows, grasping at his brother's arm and pulling him down too. Orophin winced at the strength of his elder brother's grip, but only uttered soothing endearments, speaking comforting words of Melpomaen that took Haldir's mind back to the most intimate moments with his little elf. The Marchwarden closed his eyes and visualised his dark love leaning over him, his auburn strands a veil between them and the world, and heard only his dulcet voice encourage him as his legs were lift and supported, and felt the cool oil as it was drizzled over his perineum. Not the sweet fragrance of orange and cinnamon, but the pine fresh scent of his Melpomaen.

'...let me tend you, maethoren vain...'

"Yes," Haldir breathed softly. "Yes..."

A finger probed - Melpomaen's finger - and Haldir struggled not to tense at the pressure.

'... Let me in, Haldir. Let me love you...'

"Yes. Oh yes, ' Maen..."

He did not see the wary glances across his supine frame, nor the tiny smiles of understanding - the unspoken acknowledgements of the methods they would use to aid this tender love.

The finger entered as Haldir felt a brush of hair upon his bare torso and a moist mouth fastened onto his erect nipple. He arched at the contact, and the finger slid in further, coaxing his taut muscle and bathing his passage with oil.

'... oh Gods, my love...so tight, so tight...' the sultry voice came on the current of air.

"For you, ' Maen. All for you." 

'...Yes, always...'

The laving upon his nipple was slow, caressing, thorough - causing a slow burning ripple of heat to wash across his sensitised body.

"Oh, ' Maen!"

Haldir arched again as a sudden wet heat surrounded his turgid cock, eyelids fluttering irresistibly as he needed to see that act that had provoked his action. So good, so good! Through wavering lashes his mind acknowledged the blond head and grey eyes of Doron, carefully observing him in his anxious need to know that Haldir was tolerating this intimacy. His heart saw only the tumble of auburn tresses and limpid, soul-drowning pools of chocolate brown.

" Melin le, ' Maen...!"

' ... Melithon le, uireb...'

Relinquishing all self-control to the exquisite deeds being played upon his weakened, needy flesh, Haldir allowed his head to roll back and rest against the pillows. An exploratory hand stroked upon the perfect lines of jaw and throat, teasing and stroking in gentle circles mimicking the mouths upon nub and shaft. So distracted was he by the delicious sensations, the intense darts of heat and light shooting through his submitting flesh, that Haldir barely noticed when one finger became two, and he only registered a mild discomfort when the third was added, oiled and turning to expand the now widened hole. All pain was as nothing to the stimulation of skin and shaft - and the flame that coursed through him as the searching digits found his gland. Stars exploded in minor cosmic cataclysms, and screams tore from his throat in a desperate plea to his lover.

" ' Maen ! Take me now, oh I need you!"

'... Melin le, Haldir. Aniron le...'

The Marchwarden sighed as the fingers exited his body, then he groaned as Melpomaen's shaft filled him. He gasped at the fullness, so much more than the finger - so firm, cool in the extreme and slippery with oil. It stroked his inner walls, hitting at first attempt against that so-sensitive gland and hot rapture sped through him. Again and again Haldir reached for the bliss elicited by this union, by this soul-to-soul communication with Melpomaen, his completion - his everything. He was close, so close to him... He hung on the edge, so close to ecstasy, ready and needing to fly...

"Full..." he moaned, his eyelids fluttering yet he knew he should not open them, for then he would lose ' Maen and Valar, he *needed* him so much. "So full... need - need to come...Oh Gods, ' Maen, you are so good for me - this is so *GOOD* - Never knew, I never realised how good...!"

"Then come, Haldir. Give yourself to ' Maen. Surrender your love, your heart to him. Know now that he loves you."

The words took him over the edge, even as he realised that the voice was not Melpomaen but Orophin's. Just as a sense of loss hit his heart, ' Maen's soft voice sounded in his mind and ' Maen's love filled every pore of his being.

'I love you, Haldir! I love you, I can feel you. I'm coming too. Feel me fill you with myself! Feel my heat within you!'

" Melpomaen !"

His body shook, roaring in thunderous orgasm, in a heat that flooded his veins - and the inner depths of his velvet chasm. His surrender to the rapture was total and he went over that edge and took flight; he basked in the glowing aftermath and dampness stained his cheeks.

As his stertorous breathing slowed to a normal rhythm Haldir once again registered movement from his most excellent tutors. Raising his heavy lids reluctantly he saw that Doron was replacing a large phallus upon the white cloth on the bedside table. 'Oh, so that is what it was...' mused Haldir and he smiled, amused at his nonchalance in the languorous warmth that was the result of his climax. He saw Orophin's concerned face over him and he could do nothing but slowly shake his head, and he knew that there was a satisfied smirk upon his face. With effort he raised his head and placed a gentle kiss upon his brother's lips.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice suffused with gratitude. He turned to look at Doron, whose tears flowed already. "I thank you both."

Doron nodded and his voice was choked as he tried to speak. "I - I must attend to my Oro, dearest brother. You - you should watch, for you still must learn..."

Haldir nodded in acquiescence and turned to lie on his side, head propped on one hand as Doron removed the play toy from Orophin's prepared hole. With gentle movements and many sweet endearments expressed by the two husbands, Haldir felt the privilege in viewing this obvious devotion emanating so openly from Doron and Orophin. The looks exchanged between the two ellyn were searing, soaring in the void as they kissed passionately. Orophin grinned as they finally drew breath and glanced at Haldir. Ah, so they were not finished with his tuition. 

Raising his knees to his chest the warden waited as his husband slicked his own organ with oil. Doron reached over Orophin, his hands pressed firmly to the bed on either side of Orophin's shoulders. Leaning in to claim his lips once more Doron moved his hips forward, and Haldir watched as the thick cock slid into the warrior. His brother groaned as Doron controlled his entry, pressing slowly against the guardian ring, pressing forward inch by inch until his balls were flush with Orophin's ass.

"Go slowly, Haldir," Orophin managed to groan as he panted to accommodate his husband's shaft. "Allow time for Melpomaen to adjust to your entry and to your size. Allow him to tell you when he is ready to proceed, then move slowly in gentle thrusts. Take your time in taking your love."

He broke off as he wrapped his arms around Doron's neck, pulling his bereth into a spectacular kiss. Doron's eyes closed but not before Haldir spotted the tears swimming within them, and felt privileged to witness the adoration that he saw there.

"If you change the angle of your stroke," Orophin was saying, "then you can find the gland within once more - Ai!!"

Orophin bucked suddenly, his back arching as Doron demonstrated most effectively the results of such a search. Haldir could see his brother's respiration increase, could see the flush creep across his skin and no more words came forth save for the chanting of Doron's name, over and over again. Once, in the early days of their relationship Haldir had asked Orophin why he loved Doron so much, what made him so special. 

'He would give me everything,' Orophin had replied. 'He *does* give me everything - and I give myself to him in return.'

And now he could see that in action, could hear the cries of love and want and need, could see the tiny circle that was Doron and Orophin and he wanted it - Oh Valar, he wanted it for himself and ' Maen.

The librarian now maintained his steady pace and Haldir watched as Orophin was driven to a frenzy. When Doron sensed that his husband was at the end of his endurance, only then did he increase his speed and deepen his thrusts. Haldir's hand had mindlessly wandered to his own shaft and as he watched, entranced, he too burst forth in a surprised climax, spurting out over his encircling fingers even as the lovers' cried out when the final thrusts sent them too spiralling into joy. As they fell into the abyss the inborn glow of the elves burst forth, and within that glow Haldir was astonished and humbled to see their bond, woven as light around their bodies, glowing fiercely in this affirmation of their love.

Doron fell upon the elf beneath him, breathing hard in the aftermath, to be gently but firmly enfolded within Orophin's arms. The look upon Doron's face was now bleak, as if he had suddenly realised that it was over, it was all over. And he cried , great heaving sobs laced with an anguish that Haldir could not understand. Orophin rolled slightly, pulling Doron to his side and allowing for Doron's gentle withdrawal from his body. The embrace tightened, and Orophin's lips pressed lightly upon Doron's fine gold hair, his sweet kisses intermixed with soft words to sooth the now weeping elf. Haldir's eyes widened with concern at this sudden breakdown by his brother-in-law. 

" Doron?" One word, but it was a question and a query and a plea, all in one. Orophin watched Haldir even as he hugged his bereth and he nodded his understanding; unshed tears caused his eyes to sparkle in the candlelight. His voice trembled as he tried to control his leeching emotions.

"As...confident... as my husband seems, he has been wracked with nerves and guilt since the Lady requested this - act - from us. He - he has feared hurting you. He has feared your reaction. He is scared that you would - hate - him for - what he had to do. What he was told to do. What he *wanted* to do...to help you."

The tears were now shed, trickling down Orophin's cheeks as freely as his librarian sobbed against his chest. Haldir was stunned by the amount of love that his brothers had shown him - this purest form of love, so ably demonstrated here tonight. He lay down alongside Doron, and he wrapped his arms around his two brothers - his two * melethryn* - as he took this moment to add his soothing words.

"I love you, Doron. I love you, my dearest Oro. What you did for me tonight is beyond anything that words can convey. They are inadequate to the gratitude that I feel for you both." He paused, smiling softly to show the overwhelming tenderness he felt for them. "I now have hope for my future, a hope that I did not have before. A hope for a future with ' Maen. I know now that we can be complete and I long to be reunited with my meleth. And it is all thanks to you..." 

Haldir's kisses joined those laid upon Doron's head by his husband, then they moved to lips, as the three lay entwined upon the bed. It was not long before their comforting conduct calmed Doron into an exhausted sleep and the brothers soon joined him in much-needed slumber. The last thing that Haldir did before his eyes closed was to pull a quilt over the three ellyn, to enfold them in gentle warmth to ease their rest. 

The talan was quiet now and the day would come soon enough, casting its pale light upon a promising dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish :
> 
> bereth - spouse  
> ellyn - male elves (pl)  
> tôren - my brother  
> Suilad - greetings  
> ellon - male elf (sing.)  
> elleth - female elf (sing.)  
> pen vaelui - lustful one  
> tôren vuin - my dear brother  
> meldir - friend  
> melethron - lover (male)  
> maethoren vain - my beautiful warrior  
> Melin le - I love you  
> Melithon le, uireb - I love you, forever  
> Aniron le - I desire you  
> melethryn - lovers (pl)  
> meleth - love


	14. Chapter 14

The swaying motion of the horse beneath him could have been called hypnotic, but Haldir of Lórien was nowhere near a spell of entrancement. Even as the plodding horses neared Imladris, heading down through the final pass into the gorge of the River Bruinen, his mind had been constantly racing. Thinking of Melpomaen. Thinking of their reunion, and the now beautiful promise that it held. Thinking of holding his lover in his arms and savouring that pine-fresh scent of the glorious auburn hair. Thinking of the malevolent figures of Glorfindel and Erestor.

It was the thought of these last two that caused him to glance into the surrounding forest, and only his warrior-trained eyes caught the barest of movement in the trees. The movement only confirmed what his innate senses had detected - that they were being observed and monitored by Rivendell's defenders. He nodded approvingly, acknowledging the excellent training of these warriors by their seneschal. That, of course, was as it should be. Glorfindel of the Golden Flower was renowned for his attention to every detail of his command.

No, Haldir of Lórien could not be lulled by the soothing motion of the horse's gait, nor by the beauty surrounding him. His body was tense and his mind tortured as he playing within his mind the many possible scenarios that could take place on their arrival - and the inevitable confrontation with Melpomaen's fathers. The reunion with his lover he did not fear for he knew that their link, their communion of spirit, was as strong as ever. The intensity of that extraordinary lesson in love had somehow allowed 'Maen to be with him as he was awakened to the physical joys of love with an ellon. After that night in Lórien however, the immense distance seemed to have intervened and now he leaned into every breeze or listened carefully to every whisper on the wind as he hoped for a communiqué from his darling.

No, he did not fear losing Melpomaen's love, nor did he fear physical retribution from his fathers. It was the possibility of an impossible choice being laid upon the scribe that hurt his heart. How could he ask Melpomaen to sever his bonds with his fathers? That 'Maen would choose him he had no doubt, but the probable rejection of his choice by Glorfindel and Erestor would be devastating to the little elf and would forever be a blight upon their happiness. No, Haldir felt that he must somehow overcome their objections and reconcile them as a family.

Looking ahead now he saw the slim arch of the stone bridge across the ravine, and the multitude of buildings of the House of Elrond Peredhel. Although the graceful union of the mallorn trees and the architecture of Lothlórien could not be surpassed in Haldir's eyes, still there was a welcoming blend of buildings and natural beauty in this home of an elf lord, a blending that gave substance to its title of being the 'Last Homely House'. 

A brief glance back at the elves behind him allowed Haldir to note the happy chatter of the scribes of Imladris, the last members of their cohort to be returning to their home. In their possession were the final conclusions of the work of the united archivists of Lórien and Imladris and the hope of a conjoined strategy for the defenders of both realms. Within a pouch strapped to the bags on his own mount were missives from the Lord and Lady to their son-in-law some of which, Haldir knew, concerned him. By acquainting Lord Elrond with some of the history of his saga, Galadriel hoped that Elrond would provide the Marchwarden with support when Haldir was faced with Melpomaen's fathers. Haldir had protested, but Galadriel had been adamant.

The clatter of hooves as the grit of the trail turned into the cobbles of the courtyard heralded their arrival. As Haldir pulled up in front of the main entrance he saw a figure emerge from the shadows of the atrium and for a moment his heart lurched in hope. The sentiment quickly passed for although the ellon had a luxurious head of long and very dark hair, he now registered the height, the bearing and the reserved presence of the Chief Advisor. Erestor of Imladris stood at the top of the stone steps, and there was definitely no welcome in his austere attitude. 

Haldir's dismount was as controlled as his demeanour - slow and deliberate - and the Marchwarden nodded his thanks to the stablehand who took the reins of his horse, retrieving the saddlebags before the stallion was led away. Around him the courtyard resounded with the happy reunion of the returning scribes with their family and friends, a celebration that no doubt would last well into the night. Haldir did not heed the cries for there was only one elf he longed to see - but from the cold silence emanating from Lord Erestor, Haldir realised that he could not hope for that reunion to be speedy. Instead, the absence of 'Maen at this arrival spoke of some kind of barrier to their happy greeting. With his position in Elrond's household, there was no way that Melpomaen could not have been cognisant of the arrival of a party from Lothlórien, nor the identity of the warrior who led them. No matter - this was but another trial in his path, and Haldir had overcome so many already.

The crowd had finally thinned and now Haldir faced Erestor, their confrontation witnessed only by the small troop of Galadhrim and Erestor's secretary, Saelbeth. Haldir's bow was respectful, of the correct depth and length appropriate to the status of the chief counsellor.

"Lord Erestor."

A curt nod.

"Marchwarden."

' Ah,' though Haldir. 'First blood to the Noldo'. In the absence of his honorific title and the sketchy acknowledgement of his greeting, Erestor of Imladris had made a very sharp point. Haldir felt his temper start to burn. Their dispute was personal, and to display such disrespect in front of his men was unworthy of the dark-haired counsellor. Still, he would not rise to the bait. He spoke again, attempting to keep his tone level.

"I return to you the scribes who have sojourned in Lothlórien these past six months. My Lord and Lady extend their grateful thanks to you and Lord Elrond. I forward these greetings in both my words and in the letters I hold here."

He lifted the smaller courier bag in exposition of his duty. Saelbeth took the bag from him at a signal from Erestor.

"Saelbeth, please take the letters to my office and sort them. Any addressed to Lord Elrond personally should go straight to him. The rest I will peruse when I can."

Saelbeth bowed in acknowledgement of his duty and entered the house. Erestor did not return the bow for his gaze had never left Haldir's face. Haldir remained still and silent. 'The next sally should be Erestor's,' he thought, aware of the discomfort now impinging upon his men, for they recognised the increasing tension in the air.

Erestor did not break the silence. He stood, magnificent in his shrouded form, his dark hair bound in elegant braids befitting his station; his long burgundy robes framed the slender figure and his slim hands were enfolded in the voluminous material of the draping sleeves. Haldir winced inwardly as the coal-black eyes bore into his silver-blue, but showed no outward signs of his discomfort. Finally one of the troopers spoke up, his questioning voice dissonant in the vocal silence.

"Lord Haldir, may we - should we find our billets in the warrior barracks?"

Erestor finally spoke, his voice measured in its tenor. Still he did not cease his intense scrutiny of Haldir.

"Quarters have been prepared for your troops in the barracks - and for you too, Marchwarden." His lips pursed in sardonic amusement. "We seem to have been - inundated - with transient residents recently and guest chambers are scarce. I have thus assigned rooms for you with your men." His lips curled unpleasantly. "I was sure that you would not mind." He pulled himself up to his full and imposing height. "I will send for you when Lord Elrond is able to receive you."

Haldir could tolerate the disrespect no more. As Erestor turned to retreat into the main building, the warrior spoke out.

"I do mind, *Lord Erestor*!"

The dark counsellor halted, caught by the note of command in Haldir's voice. The Lórien elf mounted the stairs to stand behind the dark elf, who turned slowly to face the blonde archer. Haldir felt the burn of wrath as Erestor presented him with a look of contempt. His voice betrayed his anger as he protested in his low voice.

"You may express your personal dislike of me all that you want Lord Erestor, but you *will* show due honour for the office I hold. I am *Lord* Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlórien. You must respect the position, even if you do not respect the person."

"I respect neither!"

The blow was sudden and forceful and Haldir flew off the steps to land hard upon his back on the cobbles. The warrior gasped with the sharp pain that shot through his spine, and his Galadhil surged forward to aid him, their astonishment at this treatment of their lord apparent in their faces. Haldir sharply waved them back, rising shakily from the hard cobbles. This was his fight. Erestor's eyes were alight with barely contained fury. Haldir made his way to the steps again, placing his feet firmly on the treads. 

"*That* was for the blow to my son's head," the dark elf cried as he lashed out once more. "And this is for his split lip!"

The second blow was no surprise and although once again he was thrown onto his back, Haldir was able to roll to his feet in seconds. He ignored the hot blood that flowed from his own lips. He felt the anger of the Galadhrim behind him, for they were aching to rush to his defence, but he could not allow them to interfere. Not now. He had to let this father's wrath burn itself out - but seeing the fire in Erestor's eyes he doubted that the anger would be extinguished any time soon. The solid fist connected with his jaw once more, knocking him off his feet for the third time. Haldir shook his head, trying to clear the daze, and rubbed the point where the blow had landed.

"And *that* was for a broken arm!" The counsellor loomed over him and he made to strike Haldir for a fourth time. Haldir rolled into a crouch, launching himself to one side into a defensive stance. Erestor lurched into the now empty space, stumbling as he tried to stay upon his feet. Haldir turned to face him in vehement denial.

"Three blows I allowed, Erestor, for each of the blows I laid upon my beloved. Three blows I allowed, to give voice to a father's grief - but no more. Only to 'Maen will I yield. Only to 'Maen will I lay myself bare." He looked around the courtyard that had filled once more with astonished onlookers. "Where is he, Erestor? Where is my 'Maen? "

"*Melpomaen* is unavailable. He will not be seeing you during your stay. He will not return to Lothlórien with you. Take care of the business that brought you here, then return to your trees. Mel is staying right here."

The words stung but even as they were uttered Haldir knew them for what they were.

"You lie. These are your words, not 'Maen's."

"My husband does not lie. He does not need to. The words he spoke are true. Our son will not return to you."

In the clamour of the happenings within the yard Haldir had not heard the patrol ride in. He had not been focusing on anything save the ellon before him. So - now there were two fathers to deal with. Haldir turned, circling so that he could keep Erestor in his view even as he attempted to bring Glorfindel within his line of sight.

Glorfindel, Re-Born Lord of Gondolin looked as if he was fire incarnate as his golden hair blazed in the rays of the late afternoon sun, and a golden halo shone around his form. Was this how he had looked when he had faced the balrogs? Ai, surely - for he had then worn his famed mantle of gold, which would have been as Anor itself, caught in the dawn of Tarnin Austa. His sword was now as it would have been, drawn ready to do battle. Exactly as Glorfindel had once promised Haldir would happen if the Lórien elf had ever hurt Melpomaen the scribe. His son. Haldir pondered on the ferocious vision before him and wondered if the balrog had trembled even as *he* did now. No coward in battle, Haldir found that he was taking shallow breaths in the face of living fury. Dimly he heard the clatter of metal scraping on the stones and saw that one of his men had flung a sword across the cobbles to him. 

'Elbereth, does he think that I must defend myself against 'Maen's father!?' he mused silently in shock. 'Does he think that Glorfindel wants to kill me?'

Looking at the advancing lord, Haldir realised that his warden thought precisely that, for the mien of the approach was in deadly earnest. Haldir initially made no move to pick up the sword but a moment later he flung himself upon it and raised it above his head even as the warrior's blade swung down. The clash of edges rang loud in a now silent yard, the crowd stunned into silence. An elf to raise a sword against another elf? Two lords to fight in the elf refuge of Imladris? 

"You were warned, Haldir of Lórien," the deep voice growled. You should leave and leave now. He will not be going with you. You will *never* see him again. He does not love you."

Haldir smiled wryly, and slowly climbed to his feet, aware that Glorfindel's blade now was aimed at his throat. Deliberately Haldir dropped his own sword, refusing to participate further in this violence. He knew the words for deceptions, lies that the fathers wanted to believe. He would not strike against them. With a determination in his voice borne of love unbounded, he answered Glorfindel.

"Shall we not ask *him* that? I did not want to come between fathers and son, but I say that the choice belongs to 'Maen, and 'Maen alone. Not you, nor I." He turned his head towards the house and drew a deep breath, calling out with both voice and mind.

" 'Maen ! I have come, meleth nín!"

The answering voice was audible to him alone but, from Haldir's smile, the fathers knew that he had received a response.

'... I know, Haldir! Wait for me, I come to you, ind nín...'

Haldir's grin widened at the love in the thought. "He comes!" he cried out in his joy.

"No!" Erestor stood before him, a smirk upon his lips. "He will *not* be coming to you. Mel is staying here, where he belongs!"

"Aye, it is you who should depart, Marchwarden," said Glorfindel. The sword tip now cut the skin of the throat where it was pressed and Haldir felt a trickle of hot blood roll down his neck. "You are not welcome here in Imladris."

"Don't you think that is my decision, Glorfindel?" a smooth voice spoke softly from behind them. With a start, Glorfindel flinched back, the sword falling slightly. The golden lord rallied quickly.

"Elrond, he hurt Mel, both physically and emotionally. He broke both my son's body and heart. He has no right to be here, making these demands."

Elrond Peredhel did not seem to be impressed with his seneschal's reasoning.

"I am a father, Glorfindel," he said quietly. "I too would ache to right any wrongs done to my own children - but this is not the case here. Even Melpomaen has said so." He lifted the piece of paper that he held in his hand. "As do Galadriel and Celeborn. They have written of the trials faced by Haldir in his pursuit of Mel's love. Haldir is right - the choice belongs to Mel."

Glorfindel glowered as he tried to retain a righteous anger, but he did not return his sword to Haldir's still-bleeding throat. Elrond look around, searching for the missing elf.

"Where is Mel anyway? I would have thought that nothing could have kept him from this 'happy' family reunion."

"I am here, Lord Elrond!"

The full body of gathered elves looked around but the scribe was nowhere to be seen - until Haldir raised his eyes.

" 'Maen !"

The cry was almost a shriek as the warden saw his beloved upon the heights of the roof of the Last Homely House, precariously making his way across the sheer slates. His robes did thankfully not hinder Melpomaen for he wore but a tunic and leggings, but his soft shoes could find little purchase upon the slippery tiles and he was hard pressed to find handholds to maintain his balance. 

" 'Maen , do not move!"

The white-faced scribe nodded, gripping tight to one of the decorative buttresses. He looked down at the gathered crowd, noting that both his fathers were there with Lord Elrond. His face darkened as he saw the frightened look on Erestor's face.

"How could you, Papa? Did you really think that a locked door could keep me from my soulmate? I would climb Caradhras in the fiercest gales of winter to be with Haldir, never mind out of my bedroom window! Although -"

There was a collective gasp as the buttress cracked, causing Melpomaen's hold to slip. Desperately the young scribe flung out his fingers to grasp at the nearby chimney. He panted with effort and with no little alarm, and his voice was shaky when he next spoke.

"Ai, Haldir! It seems that I am still no Wood Elf, agile at climbing... Meleth...?"

Melpomaen's plea was not necessary for both Haldir and Glorfindel had already sprinted across the yard to the colonnade and were even now climbing the entwined trellis and ivy. Their ascent was swift, the Lothlórien archer leading the way. His heart raced as he reached the verge of the roof and saw how steep the incline was - and how precarious was 'Maen's hold on the chimney. 

"Stay where you are, 'Maen! I am coming to get you!"

Melpomaen nodded but then added in bravado, "I - I can make it across to you..."

"No, Mel!" his father cried, but it was too late. The brave but foolish ellon released his hands from the safety of the brickwork and placed his foot forward gingerly - and slipped.

"NOOO!"

"Haldir!"

Haldir flung himself down the roof tiles, his hand flung out to grab at his falling love. In stabbing desperation he snatched at 'Maen's wrist and cried out with joy when the scribe yelped with the pain of its capture - then roared as he saw 'Maen's body slip over the edge of the roof.

" 'Maen !" 

*Oh god, no, no, no! No, I can't lose him!* He cried out again.

" 'Maen !"

The screams from below drew his attention from Melpomaen's danger to his own - and ultimately, theirs. Haldir scrabbled his feet on the slates, frantically searching to latch onto something to stop their fall. His relief when he felt a strong hand grasp his ankle was beyond all words or emotions as their hurtling plunge was suddenly halted. The hand pulled and Haldir felt the strength and power behind the effort as he and Melpomaen were drawn back up the roof. 

" 'Maen ," he gasped. "Twist yourself. Reach up and take my hand. Come now, my love. You can do it."

The dark haired elf nodded and turned, his supple body contorting itself so that he could clasp hold of his lover.

"Now, 'Maen, climb over me. Take hold of Glorfindel, and climb to a safe spot. Please, ind n ín..."

Melpomaen saw the plea in Haldir's eyes and knew that he had to obey. With great care he pulled himself over his beloved's back, using the warrior's tunic and leggings as leverage until he once more was at the chimney, holding tight. Glorfindel helped Haldir to do the same until all three were stable once more. Glorfindel nodded to Haldir. 

"I will go down first. You help Mel to the parapet, and I will be below him to help him down the trellis."

Haldir nodded and, with Melpomaen's arms around his waist, he manoeuvred them to the edge. Glorfindel descended and Melpomaen followed, aware that his father was ready to catch him. It seemed to take forever but it was but minutes before the young scribe was pulled frantically into Erestor's arms and the courtyard echoed with resounding cheers. Haldir hung back as the fathers held and embraced their young son with profound relief, but he was not alone for long. Enduring only moments of solitude, Haldir's arms were suddenly filled with a loving scribe who latched onto his lips as if he were drowning - and Haldir was the air that would save him. The kiss was fierce, reckless in its demands and Haldir could only tighten his arms about his love and revel in the soft lips devouring his. Tongues battled for supremacy, neither wanting to win or lose.

The cheers continued, not only for the daring rescue but also for the evident love and devotion exhibited now. As the seneschal and advisor stared in astonished bemusement, a hand clapped both of them on a shoulder and the chuckling laugh of their lord sounded in their ears.

"So, my dear Erestor - you tried to keep them apart?"

Erestor spluttered, somewhat annoyed that his motives were being questioned. 

"I thought - I did not want - Mel has been hurt enough already! I did not want him to face more abuse."

Elrond gently turned the advisor to face him and rested his hands lightly upon his friends' shoulders. He smiled, knowing that Erestor knew what he would say and knowing too that the dark elf did not want to admit that he was wrong.

"Mel's hurt came from his separation from his soulmate, not from mere physical pain. Haldir's task tormented him beyond what most elves could endure, and the blow that he landed upon Mel came from terror and confusion. Yet at no time did Haldir deny his love for our little Mel, aside from what I am sure were the usual occasions of minor disagreements. At no time did he look upon him without tenderness in his eyes. Not for him the false defence of sneers and rejections; he did not spear his soulmate's heart with caustic jibes or refutation of desires. *Haldir* did not waste centuries avoiding his heart's mate when he could - or attacking him with vicious words when he could not."

The two fathers blanched for both knew that the pointed remarks referred to their own denial of love, all those thousand years ago. They had clashed from the start and it took many centuries for them to reconcile their conflicting feelings with the overwhelming emotion of love. Elrond knew this well, and he did not hesitate to press the point home.

"Well do I remember the verbal sparring, the physical separation and the intense denial of Eru's wishes that lay between you for - oh, for years beyond measure. Do not deny that you two caused each other more heartache and misery than Haldir has ever inflicted upon Melpomaen. Look at them, mellyn n ín. Can you deny their love?"

No, they could not. As one kiss had ended so another had begun. Now Haldir and Melpomaen were fully entwined with hands fisted in hair, tunics taut with the pull of firm fingers, and leggings straining with the full evidence of desire. The continuous plundering of mouths had caused more than one elf in the still circling crowd to become aroused, and there was open yearning on some faces and notable shuffles of discomfort. Elrond grinned wryly.

"So you locked Mel into his chambers, like an errant child, to prevent him meeting Haldir?" he repeated to an uncomfortable Erestor. The advisor scowled, unrepentant.

"Mel is stubborn. He would not have listened to reason."

"Oh. I wonder where he got *that* from," Elrond snickered. He nodded his head towards the two lovers, where the duel of tongues had now led to roaming hands and loosened laces. "I think that you should return the key to Mel, Erestor - else we might find all Imladris set aflame. As it is," he said, glancing around the courtyard, "there will be little work done in Rivendell this day."

Glorfindel, now alerted to the avid stares of the witnessing elves, cleared his throat loudly and with purpose. As if awoken from a spell, the abashed elves looked at the disapproving Balrog Slayer and the arena emptied within a minute. Elrond laughed again and turned once more to mount the steps into the house. Erestor had gathered his senses and now hurried towards the still entwined lovers, who were as yet totally oblivious to the erotic nature of their performance - and the advisor pulled a large key out of the pocket of his formal robes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish :
> 
> Peredhel - Half-elf  
> ellon - male elf (sing.)  
> meleth - love  
> ind n ín - my heart.  
> mellyn n ín - my friends


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now complete !

The journey to Melpomaen's quarters was swift and ecstatic as both elves anticipated this, their first real union of love. Even as Melpomaen had taken the key from his father's hand so had Haldir swept his little scribe into his arms, eager to quit the open air for a more secluded rendezvous. Quick directions from ' Maen to the scribe's quarters had been frequently interrupted by rapid kisses, and only a laughing reminder and a small hand waving a key had prevented Haldir from breaking down the locked door. Once inside the chamber though, with the door locked against any unwanted intrusions, Haldir had paused to take in the pleasing sight of the adorable elf he had just laid upon the quilted bed. Soft skin was flushed to a delightful rose pink, pouting lips were swollen from avid ravishment and the opulent auburn hair lay tumbled and mussed, sprawling enticingly over the crisp white pillows. Melpomaen looked like the epitome of wantonness. And he was Haldir's - all for his delectation. Haldir struggled to speak for his voice was raw with need.

"You are overdressed."

The pouting lips curved in a gloating smile.

"So are you."

The offending clothes did not remain on their bodies for long. Swift hands and nimble fingers made short work of inadequate fastenings and so Haldir had laid himself full length along Melpomaen's welcoming body, revelling in the touch of flesh to flesh. One hand was used to brace his body so that he would not crush the little elf with his muscular frame, but the other delicately traced the fine contours of the slender and most beloved face.

" ' Maen. My ' Maen. Mine, all mine."

" Uireb," the husky voice whispered in return, and a slight movement of the hips caused Haldir to groan as their swollen members were crushed together between them. Chocolate-brown pools shone like fire and Haldir was drowning in the desire therein. 

" Garo n ín , Haldir, meleth nín ..."

The breathy invite - nay *order* - was accepted with eager alacrity as Haldir promptly claimed those tempting lips. 

Lips devoured lips in a battle royal; hands roamed and clutched and traced long fingers over pointed ear tips, eliciting moans and sighs that only increased the rising heat of their love. Months of anxious separation melted as quickly as hoarfrost on a bright spring morning. They were one, a single mass of writhing body vocal in its demands and yielding in acquiescence, pouring all their love, energy and desire into capturing this one perfect moment. 

Melpomaen thrashed in thrusting hunger as Haldir paid homage to this faultless body - willowy, white, soft and silken - and as much as he longed to mark the scribe as his own, Haldir forbore the laying of bruising kisses on so immaculate a canvas. Lower he explored, intent on trailing his mouth over every inch of flesh but his breathing increased as each lave of skin brought him nearer to the swollen evidence of ' Maen relentless desire for him, for Haldir of Lórien. A sudden inhalation came near to undoing him as he pressed gently into the curls as the base of the turgid member, and the musky aroma of ' Maen almost overwhelmed him. There was a moment's hesitation as he contemplated his next move - but only a moment, for it was *far* too tempting to allow it to pass.

Haldir's tongue flicked out to lick the hard cock, over the shaft then under, around the glans and across the weeping slit. Melpomaen's moans increased until finally Haldir took the shaft into his mouth fully. Melpomaen screamed with delight.

Acting, imitating, copying the motions as he had felt them on his own rod during that so-special lesson, Haldir proceeded to please his bucking scribe. His eyes glanced over to the table at the side of the bed, glad to see that Melpomaen still kept a bottle of his hair oil nigh him. At full stretch his fingers fumbled to catch the bottle then, without removing his mouth from the thrusting cock, he uncapped it and drizzled the sweet oil over his trembling digits.

The slow circling of the fingers around ' Maen tight hole was unpractised, but each touch was filled with tender love. Reluctantly Haldir let the swollen shaft slip from between his lips, for as a novice he knew that he needed to apply all his concentration to the task ahead if he wanted to be sure that he would not hurt his darling elf.

"May I, ind nín ?" he asked in fearful hope. In answer the supple legs lifted and folded and strong calves settled onto broad shoulders. Grabbing a pillow, Haldir tucked it under Melpomaen's hips. As he hesitated to make the next move, Melpomaen grabbed Haldir's oiled hand, tugging at it to direct it to his opening.

" Garo nín , Haldir," he repeated in a breathless voice. Melpomaen's eyes shone brighter than ever and Haldir could hardly catch his own breath, he was so enraptured by love. 

The preparation seemed to take an age as Haldir diligently applied all the knowledge and techniques he had learned from his brothers. Although he smirked with delight at hearing the small cries, pleas and moans of pleasure emanating from the pouting lips, still he would not hurry. He would not allow inattention to hurt his ' Maen. *He* would not hurt his ' Maen. As he looked down on the splendid body Haldir could only shudder with need as he saw the rivulets of lustful sweat cause a golden sheen to cover the white flesh, highlighting the curves of the bare chest, the gentle swell of the soft stomach and the prominences of the fine hip bones. Each curve was to be caressed, licked and loved, for it was his way of worshiping this gift of the Valar. 

Finally all was well and he had done all he could. Haldir stretched over the folded body, meeting the open eyes once more, knowing that Melpomaen loved and trusted him completely.

"Take me, Haldir. Make me yours, now and forever, " the sweet voice whispered against his neck.

The Marchwarden groaned, his desire and apprehension battling for supremacy - but his desire for ' Maen won, no contest. His solid frame trembled as he pressed his cock against the tempered opening, increasing the pressure against the strong muscle as Melpomaen tried to relax. A mere whimper from the little elf caused Haldir to freeze, his eyes opening wide with fear.

" ' Maen?"

There was a slight shake of the dark head.

"Don't stop, don't you *dare* stop...More, I need you in me - *more*!"

Still fixing his gaze upon his beloved, Haldir surged forward once more in a concerted act of strength and want. A gasp of disbelief escaped as he felt his penis pass the guardian ring and he slid fully into ' Maen's welcoming passage. . So hot, so tight! Only Haldir's enormous strength of will prevented him from coming with the sheer bliss of feeling ' Maen surround him. Panting to maintain his control, he paused until an upward thrust of hips demanded that he move and he complied with that silent order.

It could have been wild. It could have been a frantic, demanding coupling born of need and lust. It could have been noisy, a screaming outpouring of repression released. It could have been over in seconds - but it wasn't. It was a sensuous stroke against sweet gland; it was a gentle, continuous rocking of one united body formed from a circle of two; it heralded soft murmurs and thankful kisses, as tears of joy and ecstasy and relief ran freely from both lovers. It evoked blissful cries of completion when the climaxing spasms of ' Maen triggered the tight explosion of release from Haldir. In the twilight aftermath of love made corporeal two elves lay entwined, each part of their bodies laid upon the other as fingers ran soft exploratory trails over damp cheeks. Haldir tightened his hold upon Melpomaen in a possessive embrace.

" ' Maen. My ' Maen. Only mine..."

And as soft a breeze in the treetops, the dulcet voice of his love breathed his response.

"Yes, yours. Always yours... forever."

 

****

 

The lovemaking continued into the night and stretched until early morning, each episode of love made real punctuated by short respites of dreams coloured by joy. There was no need for food other than the food of love, their climaxes giving them sustenance aplenty. As each wave of passion ebbed after the crashing of the waves of completion upon the shores of fulfilment, so another flow of blood came to swell once more the instruments of pleasure, required to assuage the need to combine two into one. At one of these times Haldir made his most trusting request of his beloved. Melpomaen had at first demurred.

"Are you sure, meleth nín ? If - if you do not feel ready...?"

Haldir smiled and lifted their entwined palms to his lips so that he could caress the flexed knuckles.

"I am sure. I need you, Melpomaen, and I need to prove both to you and to myself that I can share fully in the joys of our physical love."

Melpomaen had prepared him as carefully as Doron had, as carefully as Haldir had prepared ' Maen. The extended loveplay made him both excited and mellow and Haldir felt in his bones the rightness of this moment. Haldir flexed his hips, thrusting into Melpomaen's mouth when the slim fingers stroked against his sweet spot, igniting the flaring fireworks shooting through his body.

Haldir had expected to tense when Melpomaen first broached his body - to protest against the invasion as he had protested against that painful incursion two thousand years ago. He had expected to weep, cry, scream his rebuttal of this invasion - but he did not. Instead he melted into the chocolate depths of his love, and swam in the heat of this glorious sensation, and answered every gentle advance with one of his own. He had been as an empty jar, an item without purpose. Now he was filled with love and tenderness and ' Maen. As wonderful as the sensation of the velvet sheath around his silken shaft had been, to *be* the velvet glove was unimaginably divine. He felt as if he had been a bird trapped in a cage, using the bars to protect himself from the fearful dangers of the outside world. He was a newborn chick, scared to flee from the nest. Now in his surrender to the moment - to the exquisite fullness and to Melpomaen - he had flung himself of the cliff of doubt. He was a fledgling - and ' Maen had taught him how to fly.

 

****

 

T.A. 3021

The strong breeze had carried the ship across the wide sea to the hidden shores and now the capable hands of the captain were guiding them to the harbour, ready to make the final manoeuvres to bring it to dock. Haldir heard the shouts of the sailors as the white sheets were lowered and furled, and the ropes were cast over to the waiting dockhands. All about him the passengers chattered excitedly as they tried to spot their loved ones on the crowded quayside. Haldir was not looking at the newfound shore. Instead he looked about him, at his fellow travellers - and family. 

Up at the prow were the main players in the restoration of the peace that now inhabited Middle Earth. Lord Elrond stood beside Mithrandir, who in turn protected the aging Bilbo Baggins and his young nephew Frodo from the bustle about them. Haldir smiled as his soft gaze fell upon the younger Ringbearer, seeing the frailness endowed upon him by the fraught dangers and demands placed on such a small creature. Hopefully here in the Undying Lands they both might find rest and peace of soul. With them too was his Lady, she to whom he owed so much, including his perpetual allegiance; and his fathers-in-law, Glorfindel and Erestor, still so close in their unending love. 

Nearer to him was his family, holding close in these final moments of their journey. Orophin and Doron stood quiet, Doron's eager eyes darting with interest upon this new scene for him, and Haldir knew that his intellectual curiosity would not soon be assuaged. Behind Doron stood his husband, his arms draped about his waist and his chin resting upon a shoulder. Brave Orophin who, when Lord Celeborn had created a subdivision of the Northern Patrol of which Oro would be head, had affirmed his position as Commander when Haldir had assured him that they would be on the same patrol rotation. Since then he had never left the side of his brother and Marchwarden. Now the mated pair stood, stronger than ever in the union of their love.

Next to them were entwined his other brother and his wife, Rúmil and Meliuwen, and their family. Oh, how his nephew and niece had grown, watched over by their loving parents. The elder couple had always guided their children with tolerance, understanding and wisdom and they had benefited as they witnessed the changes over the years and the joys adulthood had wrought. Now Alagion was a Galadhel like his father, and Tólaes a healer, both well entrenched in their relative careers. Beside Alagion stood his beautiful lady, and Tólaes was held in her wife's embrace. Both settled, both happy, both delighted at the prospect of their new lives in the Undying lands.

Looking once more at his brothers, Haldir again thanked the Valar that they all made it through the mayhem and massacre that was Dol Guldur. That they all came through alive when so many good warriors died was a miracle. Only two years ago, each name and face of the warriors he had lost was fresh in his memory - and Haldir mourned *all* the losses that had been endured by both Lothlórien and Mirkwood. Lord Celeborn and King Thranduil had been magnificent in their leadership, and had reconciled in battle any differences that had once lain between them. Now, regretfully, both lords had lingered in Middle Earth to aid the last enclaves of elves but, with the grace of the Valar, they would shepherd their people home in the fullness of time. Again Haldir remembered the words his lord had spoken when entrusting to him the care of the Lady Galadriel.

"The wielding of Nenya has long wearied my lady," he had said regretfully. "Her strength of will was needed to bear it yet in it's bearing it also offered to her strength of body. Now that the One Ring has been destroyed she is weakened and will fade if she remains in these dying years of the elves upon these lands. Be her champion and her guide on the Straight Road. See Galadriel to her father's house, so that she may rest and abide my coming."

The Silver Lord had looked in earnest upon his most trusted Marchwarden. "I will remain, but do not protest this duty, Haldir - do not seek to remain with me. Long have you served me and that service has been exemplary. Take it not amiss that I command you and your brothers to take ship to Aman. You have parents who have long awaited your arrival. There are others who desire to remain in East Lórien, for this is yet their home. I will not lack for company or security."

So here they were now, almost docked on the shores of Valinor and a whole new life was ahead of them. A whole new experience was waiting to be embraced with laugher and joy and wide-eyed amazement. With Melpomaen.

Haldir looked down at his beautiful husband seated on a corner of the deck. He still marvelled at his good fortune in capturing the little elf's love all those centuries ago. The sweeping dark hair shone with auburn highlights as the sun of Aman fell upon those luxurious locks and Haldir did not resist the temptation to stroke the soft tresses. Melpomaen looked up from where he sat and smiled brightly. Haldir grinned in response and in nostalgia, for it was the same smile that Melpomaen had given him when they had attended upon his fathers so long ago in Rivendell. Haldir smiled in remembrance of the moment when he realised that Melpomaen *did* have a pet name for his dark-haired father - but it was a secret one that the trio had agreed would be used only within the family. Now the privilege was extended to Haldir.

"Adar Glorfindel, Papa Erestor - Haldir and I wish to give you formal notice of our intention to bind. Please, my fathers, I would ask for your blessings on our love."

Haldir had felt his heart race in the fear of their rejection of Melpomaen's plea, but it seemed that the lords had realised the intense level of their commitment. Either that or they had crumbled in the face of Lord Elrond's eloquent and extensive persuasions. The result was the same - much hugging, kissing and congratulations. A few weeks later a thrilled Melpomaen had sat upon a laden horse to return to Lothlórien where they would begin their new life as a couple.

The binding ceremony one year later had been the most joyous occasion seen in years in the Golden Wood for as well as the fathers' presence at the ceremony Lord Elrond had also come with Arwen, leaving Imladris in the capable stewardship of his twin sons. Celeborn and Galadriel had decreed that there would be great festivities at this union of the two realms, and that decree had been embraced to the fullest. Later, in the gentle quiet of their talan, the loving couple had exchanged their private vows, requesting in their prayers that the Valar would send their blessing upon their bodily and spiritual bond. As Haldir had thrust deep in his ' Maen evoking their conjoined climax, their souls had been laid bare and the irrevocable union of fëar was completed in a spectacular orgasm of body, soul and heart.

Ah, Melpomaen - his beautiful, witty, openhearted husband. ' Maen's obviously expressive and compassionate character had been as a fresh breeze blowing through the mellyrn, affecting every resident of Lothlórien in a different way. Now that he was a permanent resident and wed to, he claimed, the most handsome warrior in the Golden Wood, Melpomaen had found his element in the politics of the realm. Very quickly his many varied and expansive talents had been discerned and within a hundred years the small elf had risen to the rank of advisor to Lord Celeborn. The Lord had nourished ' Maen's thirst for knowledge and, as the latter days of the Third Age had darkened, that knowledge had been plundered to aid in the protection of the Wood and to contrive the attacks upon the evil that threatened all Middle Earth. In his capacity of advisor, Melpomaen had been the obvious choice for any ambassadorial duties that took him to Imladris and of course, visits to his family. Haldir had most often accompanied Melpomaen on these journeys but as the forces of evil drew nearer so was his presence needed in Lothlórien and he was often unable to travel with his husband. It caused him much dismay to leave the protection of his little one to others, even to those as well trained as his wardens - but it accounted for Melpomaen's attendance at the Council wherein the recovered One Ring was displayed, discussed and entrusted to a small hobbit to bring to its destruction - a trust well-founded.

Haldir sighed. Those days had been fraught with fear for his beloved, and he had not been the only one to experience it. As well as his intellectual accomplishments, Melpomaen's gentle and friendly nature had stimulated the protective love of the denizens of Caras Galadhon, and his social circle had been well established soon after arriving in the city. To Haldir's immense surprise, one of Melpomaen's closest friends had been the elf who had abused him so long ago - Eruant. Within a short time of his return to Lothlórien the Galadhel had sought out Melpomaen and had apologised profusely for his drunken behaviour that night at the tavern. Melpomaen had accepted his apologies without reserve and had soon come to like the repentant warden - as had Haldir. The three had become firm friends and Haldir and Melpomaen had danced joyfully at Eruant's wedding, when the ellon had found the ellith who had captured his heart and completed his soul. When Eruant and his wife had decided only four years ago to conceive a child in anticipation of their removal to Valinor, Haldir and Melpomaen had been the first elves to learn of the impending birth of the elfling.

The cheers from the quayside had changed in tenor, and the rattles and thuds from the side of the ship announced the extension of the gangplank to the shore. All around them elves began to gather their bags of belongings that they had used on the journey, knowing that the larger pieces of luggage would be unloaded from the holds later on. Smiling down once more at his beloved, Haldir espied a look of apprehension upon Melpomaen's face.

" Meleth?"

Melpomaen's lips trembled. "Do - do you think that they will be here, Haldir? Do you think that they will know me, or I them? What - what if they do not like me...?"

Haldir immediately crouched beside his seated husband, cradling both him and the bundle he carried in his arms. He knew what preyed on Melpomaen's mind, for they had discussed it many times in the years leading up to the crossing. Here in Valinor dwelled Melpomaen's birth parents, surely re-born by now from the Halls of Mandos. In his total acceptance of Glorfindel and Erestor as his adoptive parents Melpomaen had never forgotten that he had others awaiting him on this side of the ocean. 

"Ai, meleth nín - who could not love you? They will be so happy to see you and know that you were so well loved and cared for by your fathers. It will take some time to reacquaint you with them, but we elves have plenty of that. They will love you, ' Maen - though not nearly as much as I do."

Melpomaen laughed as Haldir pulled his darling into a deep kiss, and the Marchwarden hugged his little elf once more. There came a soft cry from within the bundle that Melpomaen bore and small hands fought free of the enfolding material of the blanket, revealing a tiny face filled with large green eyes.

" Aiya, pen neth! Did Ada disturb you, mir nín ?"

Haldir reached his large hands out and the smaller ones grasped hold of him as he took his foster daughter into his safe arms, rising slowly to his feet. Melpomaen followed, delighted at seeing the expression of devotion upon the warrior's face.

Yes, the battle of Dol Guldur had exacted a heavy price and the price had been paid in the lives of many warriors - including Eruant. Haldir and especially Melpomaen had succoured the grieving widow, but in her desperate grief she had not taken heart at the near-removal to Aman and had instead fallen prey to the elven sickness. In the final days of her fading she had entrusted the care of her daughter to the two elves. Lady Galadriel had endorsed this adoption, and Haldir had near wept when he saw the gentle awe in which Melpomaen had received the child into his arms. Long ago, at a fateful meal, Haldir had mourned when he realised that Melpomaen would have loved to have a child of his own and this extraordinary event had now allowed them to become a family instead of a couple. It had brought their relationship to new heights, and Haldir had rejoiced. 

A touch upon his shoulder brought Haldir back to the present. Looking up he saw Rúmil smiling at him. 

"They are there brother - I saw them on the quay! And their bereths are with them."

They disembarked as a family, moving through the seething masses of reunited elves to reach their parents. Little Adariel was quiet in the presence of so many faces, and snuggled further into Haldir's arms as he led the way. Then he saw them. Celegon and Laeriel stood forward, their anxious faces betraying their concern at this reunion, the patent plea on their faces begging for the forgiveness of their sons at the hidden truths of their marriage. Their spouses hovered behind them and the brothers could see that the two ellyn ached to lend their support to their husband and wife. They need not have feared for Rúmil and Orophin broke into a run, flinging themselves into their parents' arms. In that split second the two thousand years of grief melted away and they were as they had been at the time of their loss - two young elflings bereft of the mother and father who had loved them, sobbing freely into the sheltering embraces. 

Haldir's eyes were no dryer than his brothers but he stood back until the throbbing need to join them could be restrained no longer. With Melpomaen by his side he stepped forward, his glistening eyes meeting the similarly moist blue of the father he loved so much. The father who had lost then regained his lover against all odds. The father to whom he had sworn an oath.

An oath misspoken; an oath that had bound him too tight; an oath broken by love; an oath rescinded. And now, by an unforeseen turn of circumstances, an oath fulfilled. No matter that there was no blood bond there - she was still family.

Pulling Melpomaen into the curve of one arm and holding Adariel in the other, Haldir smiled as he presented his family to his father.

"Adar, this is my beautiful husband, ' Maen - and our daughter Adariel. Your granddaughter. As I promised, Adar. As I promised."

And through the happy and astonished tears the family pressed together, knowing that a new life awaited them under the setting sun of Aman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:
> 
>  
> 
> Uireb - forever  
> Garo nín - Have me  
> meleth nín - my love  
> ind nín - my heart  
> fëar - souls  
> pen neth - little one  
> ellon - male elf (sing.)  
> ellith - female elf (sing.)  
> mir nín - my treasure  
> bereths - spouses  
> ellyn - male elves (pl.)


End file.
